Burn
by Maid of Justice
Summary: Jim Moriarty had a rather unique reason why he hated his childhood and his life. There was a reason why he loved to kill. Even after his university years, Jim's magic is still in use. Magic, however, may be the cause of his downfall, just as it was the cause of his thrill. He has to gamble yet again.
1. The Biggest Lie He Had Ever Said

**Chapter One – "The Biggest Lie He Had Ever Said"**

**A/N: Here we are! This is a revised version of chapter one.**

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**October 21, 1987, Dublin, Ireland**

James Moriarty hated birthdays. They were dull, boring, and were just like any other generic birthday party—a blue theme, the corny birthday song, the kids whose only goal was to get as many prizes in the ridiculously boring games as possible. He would just sit in a far corner, leaving the others to their fun. When even his parents were too busy entertaining the guests, he would slip to his room.

What he did in there was a complete mystery to everyone, and he planned to keep it that way. He would halfhearted do the thing his parents so desperately wanted him to do—to stamp his abnormality out of him, or at least, control it.

It was now his eleventh birthday. His parents weren't at all pleased with him. He had failed his 'mission', and he secretly was glad he failed. It was an improvement—he wasn't required to attend his own party; he had to stamp out his abnormality more.

He ran to his room. Sitting on his bed, he held his closed hand in front of him and opened it. To his surprise and utter shock, his palm was conjuring wisps of fire. These flames were like dainty dancers in red silk, dancing on Jim's very palm without burning him. His face was of awe and amazement.

He closed his palm and shook his head. The moment the tiny little dancers of fire disappeared, he knew he would be in deep trouble. His parents had told him he should get the monstrosity out him, and it just got stronger. However, he was so happy. He went to his top drawer and got a yellowed piece of parchment—his Hogwarts letter. He did not notice the loud footsteps approaching him.

"We saw that, boy," said a gruff voice.

Jim nearly dropped his letter. He turned gingerly to face his father.

"Why aren't you getting rid of this disease of yours?" asked the man angrily. "Unless you get that out of your system, we'll be watching your every move. Your... peculiarity had better not have been the cause of the fire at our neighbor's house!"

"That's why you need to get me into Hogwarts!" retorted Jim in the same anger. "So I don't get out of control!"

"HOW DARE YOU, ANSWERING LIKE A REBEL!" roared Mr. Moriarty, and reached for the letter in Jim's hand. He slammed it on Jim's bedside table.

"I saw you, making flames with your palm," he hissed. He pushed the letter closer to his son. "Burn the letter."

Jim took the letter and, just as he appeared to be ready to burn it, he grinned and dashed to the window and darted out it, not giving a damn that he would fall from the third floor of his house. He would take a risk; he would gamble his life to get away. He didn't mind how fast he was moving—or how tall each floor of the house was, which was taller than he thought.

Twenty feet to go.

Fifteen feet…

Jim closed his eyes shut.

"_Aresto Momentum_!"

Jim felt something jolt his body, but afterwards, he felt himself drop gently to the ground. He was shocked; he thought he had lost his gamble.

"You foolish boy!" shouted a voice belonging to a stern teacher. "What were you thinking? Falling off a three-story building?"

Jim sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw the prim, stern face of Minerva McGonagall. "Oh, professor."

"You wouldn't have the chance to call me such if I hadn't seen you!" she reprimanded. "What were you thinking?"

"Well, um, I got into a row with my parents" replied Jim. "So, I jumped out and hoped my magic can save me—that's all."

McGonagall shook her head. "That is no excuse for your stupidity. Come, Mr. Moriarty, we shall talk with your parents."

_Like that's gonna help at all! _Jim sighed, and led the professor to his house. He didn't react at all when his father and mother were shocked to see the professor again. It appeared that McGonagall too had no problem with their faces.

"I assume Jim has already decided on whether to go to Hogwarts or not," she told them flatly.

Mrs. Moriarty's eyes widened and she shook her head. She then grabbed her son's arm, and replied, "Actually, we were just getting to that now."

So, the couple pulled their son upstairs, and locked the door behind them just as they went to Jim's room. After making sure the door was closed shut, Mr. Moriarty's grip on Jim tightened.

"I want you to say 'no' to that magic professor," he told him. His harsh grip on the boy refused to go.

Jim furrowed his eyebrows. "But I want to go." _I've already bought my wand and other supplies, thanks to that wizarding family called Wood. I don't want them to go to waste!_

"You refuse that offer, Jim, or I'll make sure that one of these days, you'll be drinking poison without knowing it!" Mr. Moriarty threatened. He tightened his grip on the boy, who winced now. "Right before you could even go to your freak school."

_Blackmail. The pathetic man. _Jim glared at his father. "Surely you couldn't kill your son, now can't you?"

He saw Mr. Moriarty look at Mrs. Moriarty, who seemed to silently plead with watery eyes. He also caught his father say something, albeit softly.

"You know what happened to the other one."

Jim's face contorted to that of puzzlement. Who was this other one? _A relative, or someone Father knew? _He struggled to keep a straight face when he finally arranged it all. _He poisoned another magical kid, who's a relative! _He gazed at the older man with a gaping mouth. _He's serious about this. If I don't say no, I'm going to get killed before I even go to Hogwarts!_

The boy sighed, and murmured, "Okay, I'll do it." The moment the words passed his lips, his father let go of his arm, which now had a reddish area on it. The boy bowed his head, almost reaching his chest, and somberly went down the stairs to meet McGonagall. When the professor asked him whether he'd want to attend Hogwarts or not, Jim told her one of the biggest lies he never hoped to say.

"I don't want to go to Hogwarts."

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**Thanks to Phalanx for helping me point out that big plot hole here!**

**Reviews are welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	2. Dragon Hide Gloves

**Chapter Two - Dragon Hide Gloves**

**A/N: Hello! So, here's chapter two, with a tiny Frozen reference if you don't skim.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, but if you're an extremist, I own absolutely nothing!**

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**Summer, Moriarty Estate, Dublin, Ireland**

"We'll have to stamp out your abnormality, Jim," Mr. Moriarty told Jim the moment classes ended for the year. "Or at least control it. We have the whole summer to prevent that rather likely incident that would blow up your school."

_If only you knew how much I want to blow up the school along with the idiots who I have to put up with_, Jim thought, but he only nodded. Being very intellectually advanced, he considered his classmates idiots, elevating the other honor students' statuses to 'ordinary'.

"Well, then, let's see how long you can manage to keep your palm open like you usually do when performing magic," Mr. Moriarty said, "of course, without doing any magic."

The boy put his clenched fists to his chest and opened them.

One second…

Five seconds…

Jim was already twitching a bit.

Ten seconds…

The lights literally exploded, showering the two in crushed glass, making Jim and his father run out the closet room.

Mr. Moriarty shook his head at Jim and said, "Looks like we have to send Bobby on this one. He's gonna have many paychecks if you continue this."

* * *

Approximate one month into Jim's 'summer program' of controlling his magic, and it wasn't successful. That was an understatement—it was a complete disaster, a calamity in a single room. Mr. Moriarty had to bring the repairman to fix the closet room, and with the many times he had done so, excuses were going scare now.

He knew that unless Jim got his powers in check by the time school started, his son would have to do with wearing a very tough barrier to sparks, fire, and whatnot. However, he wasn't sure that regular nonflammable gloves would do the thing, or anything from his 'non-magical world'.

Mr. Moriarty sighed and contacted Professor McGonagall with one of the owls that did not stop perching on his trees day in, day out. He had previously done so when he requested the witch to erase all evidence that his son was magical, and delete the boy's records in the Ministry of Magic, which was successful, thankfully. This time, he needed a companion to bring him to a certain wizarding place a Muggle like him can't go alone.

He tied the letter to the owl's foot, as the wizarding folk had done. "There, you little tree-loving bird, bring that to Headmistress McGonagall in Hogwarts or wherever she's living for the summer vacation. If she doesn't get it, I'll skin you."

* * *

A day later, Jim was shocked when he saw his father bringing a pair of what Jim thought his father would never buy in his entire life—dragon hide gloves.

"Now, Jim," said his father, "we're going to control your monstro—"

"_Magic_," Jim said sharply. "Please, call it that. It doesn't hurt you." He then opened his palm with a stone on it. The stone grew and shrunk alternately. "See?" he asked with hopeful eyes, hoping that perhaps his father will come around and stop the ridiculous training. _Come on, come on, come on…_

For all Jim's intellectual prowess in school, he did not know that people like his father were not persuaded easily.

"Stop that!" exclaimed the man, slapping his son's hands. "That's why we have to keep your monstro—_magic_—in check."

Jim withdrew his hand obediently. "Yes, Father." _You won't believe something's harmless even if it's dancing around inches from you, eh?_

Mr. Moriarty sighed. "Okay, since we've been doing this for a whole month now, and it's only getting worse, I had to buy these from one of those wizarding villages with one of your lot." He held up the gloves. "These are expensive, Jim, so I expect that you get better at your hiding."

Jim nodded. "Yes, Father, but what are the gloves for? I'm not going to handle deadly plants, am I?"

"No," denied Mr. Moriarty. He then slipped his son's hands in the black dragon hide gloves; then, he removed one of them. "Try doing your magic. You can even blow up the closet room for all I care."

_Really? I'd love to. _Jim smiled slightly, but masked it quickly before his father could see. He closed his hands and opened them. His ungloved left hand was making a miniature firework show, while the gloved right hand was doing nothing.

Mr. Moriarty smiled and put the other glove on the uncovered hand. "Now, Jim, here's what you should do—conceal it, don't feel it—"

"Don't let it show," finished Jim. _Can't get any more original than that, huh?_

"Correct," said his father. "You could wear it all day, it isn't too stuffy. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Jim nodded and sighed the moment his father closed the door. He rubbed his gloved palms together, slightly desperate to blow himself up and bring the entire estate with him. "Gee, he's so eager to get rid of my magic. Well, bloody Merlin would come back to life before I let that happen." he muttered under his breath.

When he heard the door lock, he quickly whipped out his wand from the inner pocket of his coat and murmured, "_Revelio_."

A shining pewter cauldron seemed to appear out of nowhere and was waiting under the table for the boy.

Jim pulled it with difficulty and looked inside the cauldron, smiling that the set of books within remained untouched. He brought a rather thick book from the bottom of the cauldron and blew the dust away, beaming when he saw the title in gold letters.

_Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_.

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**So ends chapter two! Reviews are welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	3. Stopping Carl Powers' Laughing

**Chapter Three - "Stopping Carl Powers' Laughing"**

**A/N - Chapter three finally posted about ten revisions!**

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**1989, Dublin, Ireland**

Two years later, Jim was still wearing dragon hide gloves. Because of his secret magical education kept from his parents and even the Ministry of Magic, his powers weren't at all reduced to a tiny bit. It became stronger, and Jim quietly hexed anyone in his way, sometimes to oblivion.

Even though he was the top student of the year, there were still people who laughed at him for being an insufferable know-it-all. From his classmates to those who were in the graduating class, he was known as the nerd, the geek, and other names. He was extremely intelligent—so much that he became rather infamous for it.

Jim's mother had told him that if he ignored them, they would go away, but now, Jim wasn't sure that it was true. Whenever he was teased, he wouldn't react—the least they got from him was the sight of the boy biting his lower lip or digging his gloved hand in his pocket. The school year had nearly finished, and Jim was still teased as badly as before.

One Thursday afternoon, two days before Sir Arthur O'Brien Private Academy's top swimmer Carl Powers was about to compete at the National Swimming Competition, the mentioned swimmer ran into Jim.

"Oi! Einstein!" he shouted.

Jim didn't turn. _Don't give in…don't give in…he's a bloody prat…if you leave him alone…you know, screw it—Mum's advice about bullies never works_.

The third year then felt something hard thrown on his back. He turned and saw a box of trainers. He looked up and asked the fifth year, "What exactly _is_ this, Powers?"

"Oh, a little something to divert you from homework," Carl snickered. "I've got a swim meet tomorrow—"

"As I know," said Jim, rolling his eyes and sighing. His arms were crossed. "You've mentioned it once or twice a minute—for the whole month."

"Well, if you know about it, I need you to clean them," Carl said. "I need pristine-looking trainers for the swim meet."

"I won't—"

"You _will_," hissed Carl menacingly. "Because, if you don't, I'll make sure you'll never see your little estate whole again. You see—" the boy then lowered his voice so only Jim could hear "—I've got a thing with explosives."

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine—I've already completed homework during free time." He then took the trainers calmly as if it were no problem. He knew that Carl was joking—the boy was extremely idiotic, and was only being praised because of his swimming prowess. It was doubtful that he could even handle a hand grenade without chickening out. In fact, Jim didn't even bother about the threat; he had more important things to do.

* * *

Later, the third year went back to his home, where he ignored his parents' questions about his day and quickly went into the closet room, slamming the door behind him then locking it.

"Time to improve Powers' trainers," Jim muttered. He got a bit of strange-looking powder from the pouch he put in his pocket and threw it into the fireplace he requested for a year ago. Smiling as the red flames became emerald green, he waited to see nothing but green within the fireplace before stepping in.

"Diagon Alley," he said clearly, but not too loud as to not attract the attention of his parents. His smile grew into a grin as he felt the flames bring him from the room and into the Leaky Cauldron. _Thank Merlin I connected the fireplace to the Floo Network as Richard Brook. Silly Ministry—they did not know that Richard Brook is an extremely old wizard a few blocks away who has no real use for Floo travel, being in a wheelchair._

He stepped out the fireplace and greeted Tom. He had a little chat with the man, who thought the third year was studying under a minor magical school in Ireland, before heading his way to Diagon Alley, and into Flourish and Blotts.

The sight of books waiting to be bought and discovered made the boy grin, but he went to the shelf with the book he needed—_Advanced Potion-Making_.

* * *

Jim made sure the door to the closet room was locked and that he had a bottle of air freshener by his side. He rolled up his sleeves, put on his dragon hide gloves, and started to work.

"_The Topical Convulsing Potion_," Jim read in a whisper from his new book, "_is a poison that will make the victim have cramps and convulse for several minutes, depending on the concentration of antimony and deadlyius, which are used here with ingredients which will not counter their poisons._"

Jim then grabbed his newly-bought protective robes and slipped them on. He then sliced up the whole jar of deadlyius finely before putting it in the cauldron. He heated it for a minute before adding all three bottles of liquidated antimony, then adding some other ingredients. His grin had already reached his ears an hour later, when he placed the potion in several flasks.

Suddenly, his high from thinking of the lethal revenge zapped to abysmally low levels. How was he going to get his foolish schoolmates touch the foul-smelling substance? His eyes searched the room, and fell on a pair of trainers.

_Ah! Brilliant! _Jim felt as if it were Christmas. He remembered now; Carl Powers threatened to incinerate Jim's house if he didn't clean the boy's trainers.

So Jim picked up the shoes and cleaned them well, but wasn't able to make them look exactly new. _Carl will kill me, _he thought grimly, but then smirked. _If he doesn't get killed first_.

He set the trainers on a desk he planned on destroying later and grabbed a long-handled rubber spatula he also intended on destroying. He placed a large amount of the Convulsing Potion on the object and spread it on the inside of the shoes. Carefully, with tongs doomed to the same fate of the other objects, Jim lifted the pair of footwear and rested it on the floor where they had been, with a sign saying "Strong cleaning chemicals applied. Do not touch."

"_Evanesco, evanesco, evanesco_," Jim said, pointing his wand at each of the trainer-touched object each time he said the incantation. They disappeared immediately.

He then cleaned his cauldron and made it invisible before putting his books inside and slipping it under a tall table. He then placed the extra potion, invisible as well, in a cupboard.

He wondered how Hogwarts students could survive not being allowed to use magic during vacation, having to hide all evidences that they were magical to Muggles.

He chuckled as he magically lifted the shoes and dropped them in the box they were in. Carl Powers was going to shake with surprise—literally.

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**How did I do? Reviews are welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	4. Admission to Somewhere Far Away

**Chapter Four - "Admission to Somewhere Far Away"**

**A/N: Chapter four right here! It's kinda short, my apologies. **

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Four years after he saw the news report about Carl Powers' death, Jim was marching with his fellow graduates out the auditorium after the ceremony was finished. He led the others outside, as he was the top of his class.

While it was such a proud moment for Mr. and Mrs. Moriarty, Jim considered it a rather disappointing milestone. He had completed his education the way he did not intend to. The pain of never studying in Hogwarts was still there, well hidden and encased in the ice that soothed Jim and grew by his ruthless use of magic.

Jim sighed as he watched his schoolmates walk away. It wasn't that he would miss them—there was no use in being sentimental. It was the fact that there was nobody he could relate his experience to—that there were no Muggle-borns like him who were forced to live such a boring life.

"Jim, dear, what's wrong?" his mother asked, disturbing him from his thoughts.

The young man blinked a few times before turning his head to face his mother slightly. "Nothing, mother—there is nothing wrong." _Hell, everything I have planned has gone wrong. I killed four people during my secondary education, but I didn't need to if you just let me go to Hogwarts. No, I'm not letting that go._

If there was one thing that could describe Jim aside from being horrifyingly intelligent and secretly lacking of any morals, it was the fact that he kept grudges for so long. Seven years have passed and he still didn't let that go.

"Well, then, if there isn't anything wrong going on, we're going back home," Mr. Moriarty chimed in, leading his family to the car.

* * *

With both hands on their respective armrests, Jim thought long and hard, although it didn't look like it.

_I've already finished my education-secondary school_, he thought, _even if it wasn't to my taste. I guess I could finally be free somewhere far from Dublin…London, perhaps?_

"Son?"

_Damn. Always making me leave my thoughts—can't I have a bit of privacy here? _Jim sighed and stood. "Yes, Father?"

Mr. Moriarty beamed and pushed a piece of parchment into Jim's hands, and quickly left his son alone.

Jim was dumbfounded for the first time in years. _Is this it? No—impossible—I'm not eligible now! _He gingerly felt the texture of the paper, grinning like a child given a new toy he coveted for so long, and unfolded it. His smile dropped immediately.

_This isn't it_.

The young man mentally chided himself. Of course there was no university of magic. He huffed in annoyance and disappointment as he read the letter. It was from the University of Oxford, and now even Jim—who never had a problem understand things—was befuddled slightly. The university was in the United Kingdom, and he lived in Dublin from childhood. _It just doesn't make sense._

Jim sighed and, letter still in his hand, went to his father in the dining room.

"Father, why am I going to Oxford?" asked Jim. "I thought Dublin was not in the jurisdiction of Northern Ireland, which is in the United Kingdom."

Mr. Moriarty took a sip of his coffee on the table and smiled slightly. "You see, son…after the academy sorted out the grades for anyone who wished to be in a university, they suggested that since your grades are very high—the highest in a decade, really—that I place you in a university that would show your more competitive side."

_So they think I was bored with my required schoolwork? Finally, they realized it, albeit seven years too late. _Jim then said, "So, they suggested that I be in some prestigious university in Britain?"

"Correct, son," Mr. Moriarty said, beaming. "It was fairly easy convincing the university to let an Irishman like you attend their school—your grades have blown their socks off."

_As expected always. _Jim smiled as well. "So…I will have to live in Oxford, England?"

"Sadly, yes," Mr. Moriarty said. "We'll miss you too, son, don't worry."

_Miss you? I'm actually ecstatic now that I'm getting away from this prison called Moriarty Manor! _Jim only nodded and went to the closet room.

Jim never thought of nostalgia as a good thing—or anything emotional in that manner—but he smiled somewhat sadly when he caught sight of the room that had to be repaired numerous times. He went in and locked the door.

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**Jim might be a little OOC, so tell me what you think University-Jim should act like-still the good student who's actually a psychopathic wizard, or perhaps something else? I also edited this a bit-Jim is still 18, and is about to go to a University since, well, genius and that. Do tell me what else I did wrong regarding this education system. Reviews welcome! **

**~MoJ**


	5. Alex Newman

**Chapter Five - "Alex Newman"**

**A/N: a new character being introduced. **

**Disclaimer: If I were Moffat or Gatiss, I would give you season 4 before you can say "William Sherlock Scott Holmes".**

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Two years later, Jim back in the train compartment for his third year, now courageous enough to pull out his wand and murmur spells under his breath, changing the color of the cushions from time to time, and magically shredding them before fixing them.

Everybody was already in their compartments, he made sure of that. No one was already pacing back and forth the compartments anymore. One could only imagine his surprise when he saw a first year see him magically repair a shredded cushion.

A bloody Muggle first year in a Muggle university in Muggle Oxford—Jim was going to have such a brilliant time explaining this one to both his teachers and, if he was ever so unfortunate, the Ministry of Magic.

Instead of the terrified gasp of shock Jim anticipated, the first year smiled enthusiastically and entered the compartment without a word. The barmy-looking student covered his freckled cheeks with his hands and gasped not in horror, but in awe.

"So, you guys are real, then?" he asked Jim. "Wizards, I mean."

_You saw me bloody fixing a cushion with a bloody twig-looking object, of course wizards are real! _Jim rolled his eyes and nodded, slowly putting his wand again inside his pocket._ Muggles._

"Ooh, a wan—"

Jim quickly pointed his wand at the man and mumbled, "_Silencio_." The freckled man became silent. "That ought to shut you up. Yes, wizards are real, but don't shout about it—I may be actually breaking a wizarding law telling you that." He then performed the counter-spell, and the man apparently learned his lesson.

"You guys have a government?" he asked again, awe-struck. When Jim nodded, he extended his arm and said, "Alex Newman. You?"

Jim gingerly shook the hand. "Jim Moriarty. Now, how do you know about the wizards?"

"Look, my dad's what your kind would call a 'Squib'," Alex said, his eyes shifting from Jim to the table. "He was raised in an orphanage since he wasn't magical like his other folks, but he knew what magic was like, living in a home of it for a full eleven years, I mean, but he never told my mum he was from a magical kind who lost his powers at birth—I'm the only one who was told such."

"And?"

"He never told me how magic was, or how wizards lived, so I reckoned that he was just making a fairytale, and you were all fantasies," Alex continued. "I never believed a word he said—until now. Wow, I mean—you can actually ace your tests with that wicked thing called a—"

Jim sighed. "A wand," he cut off. "No, I don't use it in classes. I've played good, diligent, studious boy for too long. I only use it on special occasions, and—" his eyes became colder and more menacing as he fashioned a matching scowl, "—if you tell anyone—and I mean _anyone _here on this entire planet—you won't last the week afterwards. I can burn you, not just you're physical being, but your family, your belongings, your dreams—_everything__**.**_" He then opened his clenched fist, revealing a group of flames to the young Muggle.

Alex swallowed hard. "I get it, Jim. No need for the threats." He then gave an awkward smile and asked, "Who's your roommate in the dormitory? Does he know?"

"I never had a roommate since first year," Jim replied. "The professors said they found one now—around your year—but I never bothered to check."

Alex's green eyes twinkled, and he searched in a folder for a piece of paper. He then shoved it in Jim's hands.

"You're my roommate?" Jim asked somewhat incredulously after readinh. _Wow, lucky me—I finally have someone to disturb me. Bloody brilliant._

Alex nodded excitedly, and seemed as if he could hop around if he wanted to. "So…do you have a claudron?"

"Cauldron, yes—but I shrunk it," Jim replied. _Claudron! _

"Cool! Uh…is it true that you have a magical school?" Alex asked. When Jim nodded, Alex asked yet again, "Did you go there? How's it like?"

Those two questions evidently struck a nerve or two in Jim. His mouth was now a thin, flat line. "I didn't go, so I never knew."

"Why? Didn't you like magic?"

"DAMNIT, I WANTED TO GO, BUT BEING SO MEDIEVAL, MY PARENTS NEVER ALLOWED ME!" Jim shouted, standing up.

Alex paled even further. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up. Look, Jim, I'm really sorry—really, I am. I never thought it'd affect you that much."

Jim nodded, snickered at Alex's stupidity, and withdrew back to his seat with his Material Sciences book in his hand and started reading.

"You're taking Material Sciences too?" piped up Alex again. When Jim glared at him out of instinct, he slinked further into his seat. "Hey, it's not magical, isn't it?"

Jim peered at Alex without turning his head. "No, I suppose it isn't. I need peace and quiet—I have many exams coming and, although I don't like studying, I want to at least stay here for longer and not get expelled. Going back to Dublin because I was dismissed would be a nightmare."

"But you're a wizard!" Alex protested. "You can tamper your grades!"

_Such a naïve human—he'll get killed pretty fast, I reckon. _"Well, I don't want to," Jim simply replied, and continued reading.

Alex groaned. "If I were you, I'd be using magic to curse those who make fun of me."

"Exactly what I do," said Jim, who did not look away from his book. He failed to see Alex's eyes twinkle with awe.

* * *

**A reader said University Jim should be a little more rebellious, and I think I failed that thing a bit by showing the guy studying, but he's only doing it so he could pass his exams, not exactly ace them. He has to maintain a grade to avoid dismissal, and we know he would plan the murders of half of UK before going back to his horrid family life. **

**Reviews welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	6. Stammered Thanks

**Chapter Six – "Stammered Thanks"**

**It's incredibly short, I'm afraid. I hope you guys still enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer : Sherlock belongs to Moffat and Gatiss.**

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"I can't believe it," Alex said sadly, frowning as he skimmed a page of his book. "After the school year ends, you're graduating—no more magic in here. It'll be such a bore!"

Jim rolled his eyes. _Why must he be so sentimental? For all he knew, I would've lived near the school after graduation. _"So? I can still visit."

"You'd be buried by work, Jim," protested Alex. "You'll be stacked with research requirements twice the size of our room.

The fourth year sighed and waved his wand. "Wizard here, Alex—I can complete the work for one day in half the time. If possible, I may not even need work."

The redhead grinned sheepishly, and saw Jim pour some golden liquid from a flask into a shot glass. He looked up from his book, and asked, "What are you drinking?"

"_Felix Felicis_," the reading fourth year replied. He then drank the liquid in one swallow, and hissed at the wonderful burning sensation in his throat.

"What?" asked Alex with a confused face.

Jim peered at him from the corner of his eyes. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you didn't know. It causes the drinker to be lucky. I have a group project coming, and I was required to make a decent project regarding the effects of a certain substance due to acid with a few moronic people—a little luck wouldn't hurt, I think. It's basically not allowed in exams and sporting events in the wizarding world, according to a book, but as I'm in the Muggle world, I'm great."

"Can I have some too?" asked Jim's roommate suddenly. "I mean…if you allow me to…you see, uh, I have exams…the topic's something I don't really…you don't have to if you don't…"

In the midst of his stuttered explaining, he barely noticed Jim close the door behind him. When Alex looked up from his seemingly-endless apologies, he saw a flask about the size of a child's palm filled nearly to the brim with the golden liquid of luck.

"Thanks?" he mumbled to no one, smiling faintly.

* * *

"How did the potion work?" asked a familiar voice with an Irish accent to Alex a few hours later.

Alex nearly jumped. "Huh?" He turned, only to face his roommate, whose face was plastered with such a wide grin. "Jim…"

"I said, how did the potion work?" Jim asked yet again, this time in a slightly irritated voice. "Are you going deaf or something?"

The second year shrugged. "It was alright—Felix helped me through the test, and no one teased me for my glasses today—or about any my traits, in fact.."

"Felix?" asked Jim. One of his eyebrows was raised in confusion, and his arms were crossed together.

"Felix felicis," Alex clarified. He then clicked on the save button to save his essay, then asked Jim, "Uh…why do you look like you hexed someone without exactly making them lose their memories?"

"Because I did so," Jim replied with a smug smile. "I suppose you've had many bones you wished to pick with Darren Brown, the Biomedical Sciences student?"

Images of a tall man with a seemingly ever-lasting sneer on his face flashed through Alex's mind like a slide show—the same person who forever taunted Alex's messy hair, thick glasses and numerous freckles. Alex swallowed. "Wow, Jim, it's—I mean…it's wrong…but—wow—that, uh, thing you did for me…it was…cool."

"You're welcome, Alex," mumbled Jim with a rare, genuine—however small—smile before going to his bed to rest.

* * *

**Jim is rather getting out of character in here, I think, so I'll answer the inevitable question—am I going to get him back to the psycho by the next chapter? I'm saving him for something special; no, no, no, no. **

**Reviews are, as always, welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	7. Burn

**Chapter Seven – "Burn"**

**A/N : So, yeah,there could be swearing present. Well, nearly every chapter is laced with it.**

* * *

"You're serious?" asked Alex in disbelief. "I could go?"

""A maximum of three companions per graduand is allowed," Jim replied as he fixed his tie. "I don't have any decent companion."

"You parents would be there, right?" said Alex.

Jim sighed. He placed a comb on top of the desk in front of him. "They—I—I don't particularly enjoy their company."

"They'll be proud!" argued Alex, completely abandoning his homework and setting it aside. "You're cum laude!"

"They're never going to be happy unless I'm top," Jim said. He then sat down and stared absently at the Oxford blue walls. "And making them not happy is my goal."

"Have you ever been in any place besides the top spot at high school?" Alex asked. When his roommate shook his head, the redhead sighed as well. "See? You don't know! Yeah, sure they'll be kind of confused why their son isn't summa and just cum laude, but hell, our course is pretty hard. They would be lucky to attend your graduation even if you were a spot lower!"

"Thanks for the compliment," Jim said with a slight scowl on his face. With pale fingers running down the varnished desk, Jim then tossed a full bottle of Felix felicis to Alex. He said, "Use it well. It may be your last."

"Why?" Alex asked. He held the full flask gingerly in his hand.

Jim didn't say anything. He just continued to stare at his reflection in the mirror, checking for any creases on his shirt.

"Anyway, thanks, Jim."

* * *

Graduation ceremonies at Oxford were, as always, brilliant. Parents sobbing tears of joy were in the far back, while the graduates were in the front of the audience just before they were made to march out. Jim was one of the many students privileged to throw their caps up the air.

The now-alumnus was approached by his parents a few hours later in a graduation ball the summa cum laude had arranged. Jim now wore his best suit.

"We're so proud, son!" said Mr. Moriarty, patting his son on the back. He then turned to see a staring Alex. "Yeah, you're not the top of your class now, but hey—this university's big, I tell you. Your knowledge would be mind-blowing enough for your research mission in Switzerland and—"

_"__Research mission_?" asked Jim indignantly. "You planned a research mission without asking my consent? And in Swtizerland—the cold Switzerland for your cold-sensitive son—of all places?"

"Well…technically, yes,"Mr. Moriarty admitted sheepishly. "Of course, we thought you wouldn't mind, seeing as you loved doing research back in secondary schoo—"

"Dear God, did you really think I was _so_ interested in seeking knowledge?" asked Jim mockingly, one of his eyebrows raised, his arms crossed, and his face plastered with a sneer. "It was a game, Father—the great game. The game I have played for so long. I pretended that I was so interested in my studies when in truth, I abhorred having to learn such boring things with idiots who don't understand them!"

Jim's parents could only stare in shock. "You mean…"

"Yes, I faked it!" revealed the man. "I had to pretend, seeing as you always watched over my shoulder and unwittingly pushed me into becoming the best, but the moment I stepped foot into the university, I didn't study so hard. I used my advanced mind, common knowledge, necessity and sometimes curiosity to get to my position."

"Well, there is not use telling us these now, Jim," hissed Mr. Moriarty irately. "Your attendance in the mission is compulsory—if you don't attend, our family would be in disgrace, not completing contracts and all that!"

Jim's hands were already in his pocket, grasping for his wand. His eyes were cold. "I don't care, Father—at all."

"You know, you haven't been this hard-headed since the time we had to stamp out your monstrosity—"

Everything that happened next happened as if life was on fast-forward.

"_Lacarnum inflammarae!_" shouted Jim impulsively, his wand already pointed at his father, whose suit was now attacked by fireballs.

It was too late. Everyone turned their heads to his direction when he said those two words, and was shocked seeing him emit fireballs from the tip of a stick. Only Alex looked normal compared to them; he was surprised as well, but he only paled.

Before the inevitable riot could break out, Jim yelled, "Alex, come here! Now!" When his previous roommate went near, Jim pulled him behind and pointed his wand at the shocked people and said, "_Obliviate_!"

He tried to concentrate, as to only erase their memories of his magic and not their whole mind. When the light that filled the room vanished, he saw faces of rather confused people.

It took a few minutes before the crowd was no longer disoriented, and everyone was back to dancing again. Even Mr. Moriarty no longer knew the reason behind his burnt coat.

Jim quickly pocketed his wand, donned his coat, and went into the night, with Alex tailing behind him.

Once the two were alone outside, Alex said, "What have you done?"

"Save you and me from possible interrogation by the Ministry of Magic," Jim replied without looking at him. "It had to be done."

"But…you…you hexed your parents out of impulse!" shouted Alex, but not loudly enough to draw anyone else's attention. "If you could do that to them, then you could kill me!"

"The exact risk you have taken the moment you agreed to live a magic-filled life in the dormitory with me," Jim said, rolling eyes. "Or maybe that was because you were naïve then. You still are now, but you've finally opened your eyes to the danger of magic, I've seen."

"I'm sorry for shouting," murmured Alex. "I was just…surprised…that's all. You were almost always calm."

"You wouldn't be calm if your parents had entered you into a research mission without your consent," scoffed Jim. He turned on his heel to face the freckled second year. "Your fellow Muggles will never understand magic even if they are being benefited from it. My parents abhor magic. You and I are the only people in this whole place who understand. Technically, it's just the two of us against the whole world," Jim hesitated before saying his last word—"friend."

"I thought you had no friends."

"I had only one," Jim said.

Everything that happened next took place so fast. Alex smiled and hugged his now-friend. "Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome, Alex," mumbled Jim. "Now let me go. I can't breathe. You may be my friend, but I could still jinx you."

Alex let go and was about to say something.

"Hey, look!" a voice said. "It's that guy who made fire from a stick and made nearly all of us forget it!"

_Shit._

* * *

**I've nothing to say on this one. Except that Jim is OOC. Again. God, characterizations just hate me.  
**

**Edited the Obliviation scene. Thanks to Nightstar Phoenix for pointing the little snag on the part! Thanks to aforementioned author and InterdimensionalHitchhiker84 for reviewing on every chapter (or almost? Idon't count the reviews that much)! :D**

**Reviews are welcome! Always.**

**~MoJ**


	8. A Five-Minute Friend

**Chapter Eight – "A Five-Minute Friend"**

**A/N: Advanced amounts of OC/Canon character OOC may be present. So sorry.**

* * *

Jim froze when he heard the words the man several meters behind him said. _I forgot—Peter Newman was outside the building at that time! _He quickly dug his hand into his pocket to get his wand, only to knock the object and make it roll away.

The man cursed and grabbed the rolling wand, but he tripped on a stone, and fell as a result. It took a few seconds before he could stand up again, and even after he did, his mind was still hazy. _Focus, Jim, focus. _

Before he could point his wand at Peter and perform a memory charm, Alex made him stop and talked to his brother.

"Look, Pete," he explained, "Jim only needed that because it would endanger the magical community."

Jim buried his face in his free hand. _Well, it would be a miracle if that would save our necks, and not kill them further._

"So there are other freaks too?" asked Peter angrily. "And you tolerated that madman's actions?"

"Just because only Father got left out on the fun by the wizards doesn't mean you have to judge people, Pete," replied Alex. "Jim's a nice guy when you don't insult him. He helped me improve my grades by giving me lucky potion—"

Peter didn't allow his brother to say anything more. He punched his younger brother on the face. "You know well Father hates talking about magic and tells us it isn't fair at all, and here you are making friends with a freak. I thought you were just a frisky, innocent boy I had to protect. No, you're a bloody bastard!"

Peter then shot a nasty look at Alex and Jim before walking away. Once the older man left, Alex looked lividly at his friend.

Jim looked confused. Alex was rarely annoyed, much less angry. "Alex…"

"C-consider me someone who was a friend to you for only five minutes, Jim!" stammered Alex. "I-I don't care about the magical times we spent together! You've lost me my older brother's trust!"

"Alex, you know I can change that in a few waves of a—"

"Shut up, Jim!" yelled Alex. "Shut the hell up and let me speak!"

Jim could only stand there, dumbfounded by his friend's uncharacteristic behaviour. _What the—?_

"Peter was the only person who didn't joke about my appearance, and was the only one who told me he could trust me with his life if he needed," Alex said. "I don't care if you can erase his memories with that wand of yours, because—originally—he lost his trust in me. Look, Jim, this is my limit, my pressure point, as you say."

Jim could only stare, his mouth opening slightly. _Wow…after two years of this, you throw it all away because your brother hates magic?_ "So…am I going to leave?"

"Well, no," Alex said. "I have one more request—that you use your wand again to modify my memories and change the magic into mere, ordinary, Muggle objects. Replace Felix felicis with juice, or whatever. Just change it!"

Jim stared at him again, shocked. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with Alex Newman?"

"This is really me, Jim," Alex replied. "Now—the memory-changing charm."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

Jim sighed. "God, and I thought you weren't that bad!" Jim took a deep breath and steadily positioned his wand in front of Alex, and muttered, "_Obliviate_." He then muttered the false-memory incantation, and reluctantly replaced the magical details of Alex's university life.

Now, if he could learn how to see Alex's memories, he could see that instead of him tossing to the man a flask of golden liquid, he would see himself giving Alex a glass of plain juice. He would be cooking plain soup in the modified memories instead of brewing potions. The spells he had performed were now erased. The reason Alex got angry at Jim became something different.

When the light disappeared, Jim pocketed his wand quickly and found himself breaking newly-formed ties with the second year for something that never even happened. In Alex's mind, they were no longer friends because they didn't agree on anything. Now, only Jim knew the real reason.

* * *

"So, yeah, bye Jim, even though our official friendship lasted for...eh...a pathetic five minutes or so," Alex said a few minutes later, extending his hand just like Jim had when they first met. "We can't be friends, I guess, now that we've agreed that our time in the dorm was just not enough for us to be friends. So…civil acquaintances?"

Jim smiled sadly—although inside he scowled—and shook Alex's hand. "Civil acquaintances."

* * *

**So cruel, am I? If you guys think Alex just full-blown became another person (which I really thought he was), here: Alex is a generally lonely person being teased because of his looks from day one of his education, based on his university life. Only his older brother was implied to have understood him, protected him, and trusted him, until Jim came along in the university. When Jim became the reason he and Peter became very distant in an instant, Alex couldn't take it—Jim was presumably going away from England for presumable many years, and his brother now hated him because of his friend, so he basically had no one in his age group, and thus hated Jim as well, and hatred could change people (really, it does).**

**I really hope this isn't going out-of-hand** **. Review are welcome! **

**~MoJ**


	9. The Mass Murder at 219A, Baker Street

**Chapter Nine – "The Mass Murder in 219A, Baker Street"**

**A/N: Oh, look, I didn't realize we've already tackled into the 2000's.**

* * *

**2004, Abandoned Warehouse, Birmingham, England**

A year had passed since Jim had done neither of the things he had the option for. He did not live near Oxford as he promised Alex. He also did not attend the research mission in Switzerland as his parents wished. After a disagreement with them, Jim had packed his bags and left the confines of Moriarty Manor.

A lot happened in the year he left the huge mansion with wrought iron gates. He had met the assassin Sebastian Moran and his fellow snipers, who carried out Jim's plans without hesitation. Nearly all of the plans involved clients who asked Jim to kill someone they did not like.

It was extremely boring for the young man, who only needed to create a poison and hand it to the client, and he would be done. Sometimes, the situation would change and would have Jim actually sending the snipers into shooting the victim. One thing was certain in both of the situations—Jim was cautious as to not get caught. He had erased all evidences that Jim Moriarty existed, and replaced his name on the internet and on documents to Richard Brook. He then only gave his last name to the clients.

* * *

"Uh, Jim, we have a problem," said Sebastian Moran to Jim a week after Jim was contacted by a government worker who wished to have his boss killed. "We tried to find a hole in their security, and we couldn't find any. Perfectly secured, that government man. It's like he's expecting for an assassination. He wasn't in his office or in any of his estates."

Jim buried his face in his left hand. _They're good in shooting people, but not at all good in trying to find a high-profile man who wished to lay low! _"Fine, fine—I'll do it myself." He shot nasty glances at each of the snipers and went to a room in the abandoned warehouse they were in.

* * *

Jim checked his potion flasks, hoping to get a flask that said, "_Polyjuice Potion_". He smiled when he saw a small flask of the liquid. He smiled and placed it carefully in his pocket along with his wand. He was just about to open the door when an idea struck him.

Why wasn't he going to Apparate?

Jim grinned. He was already past seventeen years old, and he was pretty advanced in magic compared to his presumably idiotic Hogwarts counterparts. Why couldn't he try?

_Let's see, I'm already of age, so I'm pretty much allowed. I don't have a license, which is even better, so they won't know who I am. _Jim closed his eyes and turned on his heel, imagining that he was in the streets of London.

_Ow! _Jim felt that he was being pulled by a peculiar force in every direction. It was even more painful than anything he had ever experience, and by the time he had arrived in the middle of London, his face was awfully red, and if it weren't for his strong stomach, he would've thrown up. Jim took a few deep breaths before walking near one of the flats. He then plucked the hair of an unsuspecting businessman and slipped it into the Polyjuice Potion.

Jim stood near a dark corner where vandals usually were—except they weren't—and stared at the flask of the frothing liquid. It turned into a shade of dark green, which wasn't particularly inviting. _Never mind—I regret nothing. _Jim drank the potion in one gulp, and was thankful that he did so. The taste was minty—the last thing he needed. Aside from the taste, the actual transformation itself would have competed with Jim's Apparition as the most painful experience in his life.

* * *

Jim felt awkward walking in another body, and in a taller one. _I hate my height_. He then started interrogating everybody he stumbled upon about the place the government man was. He got nearly no reasonable answers until a jolly-looking man told him that Sir Timothy Williams—the exact man Jim was looking for—was in flat 219A in Baker Street.

"It would take a while convincing him to get out of his hole there, though," said the silver-haired man. "Very paranoid, ever since he got news that he'll be assassinated."

"Oh, is that so?" Jim asked. "I'm an acquaintance of his, and I need to submit a document personally."

When the shorter man left, Jim immediately ran to Baker Street, and went in front of 219A immediately.

"_Alohomora_," he whispered, his wand barely visible under his coat. The door swung open immediately, granting him access. There, he found Timothy Williams with wide eyes.

"Oh?" he squeaked. "Uh, it's just you, Wesley—the young red-headed son of Julius Weasley. I thought for a moment you were—"

"I know, sir," Jim replied, deepening his voice in hope that he'd sound like 'Wesley'. He then closed the door behind him and locked it. "Sir, are there any cameras here?"

"Indeed there are," Sir Timothy replied. "I disabled them, though—had that government man Mycroft Holmes to do it. Told him that if he enabled it for even just one second I'd tell his father that he's a sissy. Good thing that boy respects a person's decisions."

Jim nodded, humming in an interested tone. "Are there other people here?"

"Yes—I'm having a meeting with many people here, you see, Wesley," Mr. Williams replied. "Come here, boy, let me get them to know you."

So Jim went with the short man and mentally planned his murder—mass murder.

* * *

**Hours later**,

"After a massive explosion in 219A, Baker Street," announced a newscaster, "New Scotland Yard has already investigated, and found no traces of explosives at all. There had been no other object in the place that would cause such a tremendous explosion."

The scene changed from the studio to New Scotland Yard, where the interviewers were done asking questions to Sergeant Dimmock, and were now interviewing Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Uh, yeah, so we've nothing related to explosives—no bomb shells, no bullets, no powder, nothing at all," the DI said. "There weren't any gas tanks, as it was a pretty large, empty room with only a table and numerous chairs. It's a mystery as to how nearly three quarters of the flat exploded without any tangible evidence, but we're trying to solve it. All we know is the person who admitted to the crime—Wesley Weasley, the trusted accountant of Sir Timothy Williams. He won't tell us how we did it, however."

Jim switched the television off and chuckled. _The magic of memory-modifying charms and 'Confrigo'!_

* * *

**If you analyze the chapter closely, you'd realize that there would be someone who once did the same thing with the memory-modifying charms, albeit he did it decades before Jim was born.**

**Reviews are welcome (a common line, eh?)**

**~MoJ**


	10. The Mirror of Erised

**Chapter Ten – "The Mirror of Erised"**

**A/N: I update so fast, do I?**

* * *

**Thanksgiving Day, Moriarty Manor**

Jim sighed. He was, as always, forced to attend the Thanksgiving celebration his family would plan. He was silent throughout the meal and afterwards. He just smiled slightly at his little cousin's antics and avoided all eye contact with his mother and father.

"Look, Jim!" said Jim's eleven-year-old cousin Alexander, showing Jim a piece of yellowed parchment. "Can this be a secret among you, me, and my family?"

For the first time, Jim spoke to someone. "Yeah, sure, Alex." He felt slightly uncomfortable calling his cousin as such, but Alexander sounded confrontational. _Hogwarts letter—I'm sure of it. _

"I'm a wizard, Jim," whispered little Alexander. "Will your parents understand?"

Jim's lips were then pressed together and pulled Alexander into a dark corner away from the rest of the family, where he showed his wand, and created sparks from it. "No, they won't. I'm a wizard too, Alex. They didn't let me attend Hogwarts."

The child appeared to understand the rather disappointed tone in Jim's voice, and patted his cousin's back. "So you learned magic all by yourself? In secret?"

Jim nodded. "Just don't tell anyone at school. Promise?"

Alexander smiled and nodded. "Promise, Jim." He then let Jim open the letter to read it.

Jim realized that little Alex's parents had already opened and read through it as he read it. "Have your parents allowed you?"

"Yeah," Alexander replied, wiping the traces of chocolate from the corner of his lips. "But, Jim, are you using your magic for good, and not for bad stuff?"

Jim swallowed hard, but tried to hide it. "For good, Alex," he lied. He then handed the letter back to his cousin, and said, "Tell me everything about Hogwarts."

Alexander nodded and ran off, unwittingly leaving his cousin guilt-stricken at having to lie at the mere question asking if he had used magic for good or evil.

Jim sighed and shook the thoughts out his head. _It doesn't matter if they're both with the name Alex. Emotion is emotion—it will never lead to anything good! _He looked on at the boy who looked exactly like Jim except for the bright green eyes. _One day, Alex the Hogwarts student will leave me too._

* * *

**Christmas, A year later, Moriarty Manor**

"Hogwarts is wonderful, Jim!" said Alexander as he and Jim were alone in a room the rest of the family deserted. "There were moving staircases, talking portraits, cool wizards, oh, and there are magical things we're allowed to bring home if we're trustworthy enough! There are four Hogwarts houses—Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin—and I was in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!"

Jim shook his head and laughed. "Quiet down; my mum will hear. Hogwarts sounds wonderful."

Even the twelve-year-old did not miss the frown on his cousin's face that lasted for only seconds. "Don't be sad, Jim—I've already seen you done such wonderful magic! I've seen seventh year students who can't perform spells that you can." He then handed Jim a parcel. "It's the Mirror of Erised—or well, a portion of it made into an ornate, Victorian-style mirror. Don't use it in front of the others, Jim."

Jim smiled slightly. "Thanks, Alex. When should I return it?"

"At Easter break," replied the second year. "It's a time when homework is cramped like a giant in a single sock, but I think I can concentrate when I'm at home instead of there. When I return by Easter, can you come so I can have it back?"

Jim nodded. "What does this mirror do?"

"Well, you have to find out yourself, Jim," said Alexander. "You said that finding out for yourself is better than being told."

* * *

**January 6, Birmingham, England**

Jim completely forgot about the parcel Alexander gave him until he had returned to the abandoned warehouse, where Sebastian and his snipers were. After determining that there were no new clients, Jim imprisoned himself in his room, and opened the parcel.

The first thing he noticed was the strange inscription written on top of the mirror. _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._

It took a few seconds before Jim could figure the text out. _I show not your face, but your heart's desire._

Jim looked at the mirror in a skeptical way before looking into the mirror itself. The result nearly made him taken aback.

_That's not me, _he thought in shock.

He did not see his current reflection. He saw an eleven-year-old in Hogwarts robes lined with green. The boy in the mirror appeared to age, finally showing an eighteen-year-old Jim shaking hands with a professor in the midst of graduation.

It amazed Jim for a second, before realizing that no matter how many years have passed, his heart's greatest desire was going back in time to go to Hogwarts.

"I see your cousin gave you the mirror, Mr. Moriarty."

* * *

**Well, I reckoned you guys know exactly what his heart desires before Sherlock Holmes and the Great Game came along. **

**~MoJ**


	11. Another Talk with Minerva McGonagall

**Chapter Eleven – "Another Talk with Minerva McGonagall"**

**A/N: Cliff-hanger in the last chapter, but since I am not Moffat, I'll let you have this one quickly.**

Jim turned eyes wide. Behind him was the same woman who he had last met as an eleven-year-old. Although she definitely looked older—seventy to eighty, to be precise—the prim and stern face of the professor remained, and Jim could not help but gulp.

"Uh…Professor McGonagall?" Jim said uncertainly.

McGonagall shook her head. "Headmistress, Mr. Moriarty—you have been outdated. What are you doing with your cousin's take-home artifact?"

"He let me have it until Easter," Jim replied. "I want to have it forever, Headmistress. It shows me as a Hogwarts student—it looks so real, so tangible_, so possible_."

McGongall sighed, and took the man's arm. "This is going to be very uncomfortable, Mr. Moriarty," she warned. She took the mirror as well, and turned on her heel as soon as Jim was standing up, his arm in her hand.

Jim winced as he felt the pain of Apparition yet again. _Side-along Apparition isn't any better! _He closed his eyes to at least not see swirling images, and when he opened them, they were in an office—an office that looked like magic dominated every inch of it.

He had not seen the place at all, but he knew well where it was.

"I'm at Hogwarts," he whispered more to himself than to anyone else gleefully. "I'm at Hogwarts!"

"Well, my office in Hogwarts, Mr. Moriarty," McGonagall clarified. She then went to the door. "I shall be away for an hour or so, Mr. Moriarty—to activate the Anti-Apparition Charm again. This door is locked and can't be unlocked with magic. We'll talk later."

When Jim heard the door lock, and McGonagall's incantation that presumably made the door impossible to open with a simple '_Alohomora_', he just sighed and pouted. He was indeed inside Hogwarts, but was confined only to the office of the Headmistress.

"Oh, hello, Jim. Didn't expect to see you after so many years."

Jim whipped his head to the right, and met the twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore—or, to be correct, a moving portrait of him. "Uh, sir…how come…"

"I killed him," said another person in another portrait. This time, he looked like he was a strict school teacher—but everyone was. "Severus Snape, former Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"James Moriarty," Jim introduced himself, nodding. _He killed Albus Dumbledore, the so-called greatest wizard of all time…how?_

The man Severus Snape smirked. "I killed him by a simple Killing Curse, Moriarty. I see you have secretly studied magic, eh? And that you have a spruce wand with a dragon heartstring core and a length of thirteen inches. An advanced potion-maker, and the only spells he hasn't bothered to perform are the Unforgiveable Curses and the Patronus charm."

This dumfounded Jim. "Sir?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Severus Snape is a skilled Legilimens—he can see a person's memories, and thoughts."

"But do not worry at the slightest, Mr. Moriarty," Snape said in a bored, drawling voice. "We will not trouble Minerva by telling her, now, will we, Albus?"

"There are indeed some things that need to be kept in secret, Severus," replied Dumbledore solemnly. "Now, since this will probably be your only encounter at Hogwarts, how about experiencing some of the thrill the first years have experienced? Try on the hat, and I won't say anything else for I'm sure your intelligent—however hard-headed—cousin would have told you enough knowledge to know about the Sorting.

Jim peered at the old, filthy hat and grimaced a bit before nodding. He remembered about Alexander telling him about the old hat telling them their houses. He tried on the hat, and, being already an adult, the thing didn't fall in front of his eyes like the first years have experienced.

_I see you've tried me on more than a decade too late, eh, Mr. Moriarty?_

Jim rolled his eyes.

_You want to know your house had you been a Hogwarts student eh? Well, it's difficult. You are intelligent, no doubt, and equipped with a ready mind. You seek adventure and thrill in all of your endeavours. Oh, but there is no denying that you are extremely cunning, and worthy to be under the wing of…_

"SLYTHERIN!"

It was a rather loud boom, but Jim smiled. Though he wasn't a Gryffindor like Alexander, he had at least known where he would've been. He saw Severus Snape smile a little, and grin at Dumbledore, as if taunting him that the man had gotten into his house.

When he heard the sound of a door opening, however, Jim immediately took off the hat and appeared to be innocently toying with it when McGonagall entered.

"No need to fool me, Mr. Moriarty—I know that hat sorted you into Slytherin," the old lady said. "That hat never learnt to be a bit quieter. Now, we need to talk."

"About what?" Jim asked.

Snape then unceremoniously butted in. "Well, I am just as curious, Minerva. How come you need to talk with the boy?"

"Because I found him with the Mirror of Erised in his hands when it should be his cousin who should be handling it," McGonagall replied to the portrait, sending to Snape a nasty look. She then looked at Jim again. "Mr. Moriarty, what you saw in the mirror—it can't happen. It is not tangible. It is not possible."

"It is if you let him attend Hogwarts as a first year despite his age," Snape sneered. "We've had that impossible late-bloomer Jeff Hope, who attended first year at the age of twenty-nine!"

"The images you've seen in the mirror are driving you mad—many unwary men have been—and while I have trusted your disciplined cousin to handle it without getting insane, I believe I can't say the same with you," McGonagall continued.

Jim looked disturbed at the words the Headmistress said. "But—"

"Mr. Moriarty, keep in mind that the worst thing about dreams is that they not always come true," McGonagall said, cutting him off. When she saw Jim nod—although he looked reluctant at doing so—she stood up, and signaled Jim to do so as well. "Now, we'll return to your place. Severus, will you be as kind as to deactivate the Anti-Apparition Charm?"

"Have done so ages ago, Minerva," Snape snapped in a bored tone. "I reckoned that you will need to Apparate again."

So Jim took the older witch's arm and once again Apparated, but this time into the warehouse he was in. When he was finally alone in his room, he smiled slightly.

_I was in Hogwarts._

**So, yeah, after a decade, Minerva McGonagall makes her reappearance. Jim's seen Hogwarts (or, a part of it), and spoke to talking portraits. Now, I need you guys to suggest what the next chapter should be, since this thing is basically twists and turns and I will drive myself into a ditch I don't get some help. **

**~MoJ**


	12. The Undercover Aurors

**Chapter Twelve – "The Undercover Aurors"**

**A/N: After some writer's block, I'll make another twist here, and really, this fic is basically twists and turns and sometimes close calls.**

* * *

Jim could only Apparate back into London the next day, where he stumbled upon the policemen still investigating about the explosion. He saw the oldest cop of the group make the other officers except two go away. He also made a scarfed man go.

Jim hid behind a wall, curious as to what the three cops were going to talk about. He kept quiet, although he shook with anticipation, like a child playing spy on his friends and family.

"Look, Dimmock, I think we have to notify the Ministry of Magic," said the policeman. "This thing isn't our regular Muggle crime. It's Code MIMW, and if you still don't get that, since the Ministry hasn't contacted us in _years, _it just means that this case is different."

_Ministry of Magic? _Jim's mouth was open wide in surprise. _And the use of the word...Muggle._

The young man Dimmock looked skeptical, his arms crossed. "But—"

"It's now obvious that magic has done this—we've done Secrecy Detectors and other magic-detecting devices, and we now know that no explosive could've done this huge damage—if there were, parts of it would show. It's obviously Confrigo," the youngest of the three—a woman named Donovan—said.

Dimmock then looked at the older man. "But we don't know whose wand caused this. There's no record in the Ministry about any wand performing Confrigo on the day of the explosion. Besides, Lestrade, if it is magic, what are we going to tell the Muggles?"

"Nothing," Lestrade replied. "We tell them that we found no evidences of what caused the explosion, and call it case closed. We wait for another crime to happen—murder, abduction, whatever shows up—before we start to actually investigate"

_I'll provide you both of those and more myself, _Jim thought grimly. _So those three officers are wizards as well—hmm…Aurors in disguise, perhaps?_

_Well, can't let them find out anything more. _Jim brought out his wand and pointed it carefully at the three officers. He then whispered, "_Confrigo_"

The man Lestrade's eyes widened as he saw the spark of light coming towards him, pulled his two fellow officers behind, and quickly grabbed his wand, saying almost impulsively, "_Protego._"

Jim again felt pain from magic—this time from having been knocked over. Luckily, his spell had rebounded not on his body, but on the rubbish bin nearby, which became only a mound of fine dust.

"Shit, there's a wizard—an unregistered one!" Donovan told her companions frantically. "And I've checked the records via Protean-charmed parchment—there's no recording of the spell you blocked at all, Detective Inspector. Only your response to it."

"Well, Sally, I think we have our murderer in our midst," Dimmock told her, a grin creeping up his face. "I think he's right behind that wall. Come on." He motioned for the Detective Inspector and the Sergeant to come closer.

Jim muffled his groan with his hand, stood up, and quickly Disapparated despite the pain, but there was no doubt that he knew that the three officers have heard the loud crack he made as he left. _At least,_ he thought, _I wasn't caught by them._

* * *

Jim, for once, thanked the fact his parents actually never let him to Hogwarts—but only for once. The only perk of never going there to get his wand registered was the fact he could do anything he wished, and the Ministry could never hear of it. He wouldn't worry about the Ministry finding out he was the mass murderer of the Muggles, and the wizarding world looked fine without knowing of it.

The secret Aurors, however, were right there in London—the place Jim had to kill often. Jim had to be careful whenever he had to Apparate nearby—or, if even possible, not Apparate at all, but that would be boring. He would get rid of them someday, but for now, he needed to practice caution—something he never did.

* * *

**So, I reveal to you guys that three of our NYS officers are wizards in disguise—Aurors, in fact. And they know that there is a wizard killing around, and with no record at all to boot.**

**What do you guys think? Suggestions? Requests?**

**~MoJ **


	13. The Great Game

**Chapter Thirteen – "The Great Game"**

**A/N: So, here I am, and we're now in the year 2010, the year A Study in Pink happened.**

* * *

Jim had been able to kill a hundred or more people in a span of ten years, and that was just in London. No one—not even his clients—know who he really was, or how he did his crimes without leaving any trace of it, albeit he would under a Secrecy Sensor.

However, as the days, months, and years grew, so did Jim's boredom. He didn't use the Killing curse because it was boring—watching perfectly-healthy people die painlessly was boring. If ever he needed a quick mass kill, 'Confrigo' was an ally, but otherwise, he stuck to the full-body bind along with another hex. Still, simply killing people were not enough. They were often unsuspicious that the polite man in front of them was their downfall. So, they never really suspected him until his sniper shoots them, or when he finally conjures a snake to bite them.

Sebastian, despite not knowing who his boss truly was, had helped when he unwittingly told Jim of a man just like him—an intelligent man who was also bored with the world.

"I've heard his name at the police station many times, boss," he said. "Sherlock Holmes, I think. I've seen him deduct things about people from their clothes. Rather bored, that one—he keeps ranting about how boring and simple the cases are."

Jim's fingers were on his chin. "Is that so?' When the assassin nodded, Jim smirked. "So I am not alone after all. You know, Seb, in school, when two people have common interests, they play games together and become friends, but since that Sherlock Holmes is apparently on the side of the angels, a little game without the friendship thing's good, right? But what to play?"

That's when the sniper shows him a letter from the cabbie Jeff Hope.

* * *

"So, you're going to make me shoot that Chinese general?" Sebastian asked the pale man weeks later. "Hell, boss—she'll surely promise that she won't blab your name about."

"Promises have a fifty-fifty chance of being broken, and I don't want to gamble anything, Seb," explained Jim after lifting the cigarette from his lips. "Cautiousness will be my friend during these times."

"The stupid police aren't that active," pointed Sebastian out. He wanted to relax for the day—to have a day off. Unfortunately, his boss didn't like breaks.

"Well, I don't care," said Jim menacingly. "Shoot General Shan right after she promises to not blab my name about or I'll wrestle that gun off your hands." _Which, in truth, is actually magically using 'Accio' and erasing your memories later._

Sebastian boldly shot a look at Jim and went out, beckoning the other snipers along.

* * *

Jim was again bored. The two crimes he had drawn Sherlock Holmes' attention with were not adequate for his bored mind. He had been hiding for so long, and hadn't Apparated and hadn't blown people up since he knew that there were Aurors around. He wanted to just run off and throw caution to the winds, which he always did in the past.

The frustrated man stood up and changed into casual attire. After grabbing his wand, he shoved it down his pocket and bravely turned on his heel, transporting him to London.

As always, his arrival was signaled by a loud crack, but in the midst of noisily chatting people, it would've been mistaken as a car backfiring. He blended in easily with the crowd, and went to a café, where he watched the people passing by as he sipped his drink.

A certain tall, curly-haired man with a shorter companion caught his eye—or, rather, the name the shorter man had addressed the taller one.

"Sherlock, we're going to St. Bart's again?" the man asked him.

"Yes, John," Sherlock said. "I need something."

"A head, I presume?" the man John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Maybe."

Jim grinned. _So…Sherlock Holmes has a little pet around, and he goes to that hospital. _He looked at his pocket. _Time for another kill. This time, without such an attention-grabbing explosion._

He stood up and left, leaving the half-finished cup abandoned. He took a cab to the aforementioned hospital, and went to the IT section, where he asked for a man to come with him. Minutes later in an empty bathroom, Jim had used the vanishing spell on the unfortunate man, despite the difficulty for humans were such complex creatures. Jim felt powerful at the thought of the ability to bake a grown man disappear with a simple spell.

Now, with the deed done with no evidence at all, Jim went to the morgue, as that was where Sherlock Holmes was apparently going to, but found no detective. He instead met a mousy little Muggle pathologist, who talked about her feelings for the detective on the phone.

That was when Jim decided to date the pathologist, and play gay.

* * *

_He's good_, thought Jim. _He only failed to keep that old woman alive, but then again, she was blabbing about my voice! So soft, my hat!_

He looked at his computer screen, and read the message Sherlock Holmes had for him. It said that they would meet at the pool—the exact pool where Jim's poison began to take effect on Carl Powers and ultimately killed him.

Jim shut down the laptop and smiled. He headed to where John Watson was, disguised as a mere police officer, and got the man into a secluded spot in London.

Jim then murmured, "_Imperio_," at John, just like had done with the rest of his victims during the game. Johnw ould be under his control, for a few hours time if needed.

* * *

Hours later, Jim had to cover his own mouth to prevent himself from laughing at Sherlock's little rant. When the detective finished, Jim stepped out of the shadows and told Sherlock in a disappointed tone that he had expected him to call via the number he had left underneath the petri dish.

He stood opposite to Sherlock, and they were separated by a swimming pool. His hands in his pockets, with one lightly grasping his wand, he introduced himself. "Jim Moriarty. Hi."

After making clear to Sherlock that he would ruin him if he got into his way, Jim left him alone with John for a few minutes, only to command Sebastian to mark them again with a laser pointer—many laser pointers. He stepped outside again, announcing that he was so changeable. _Because I really am!_

Jim loved the little power he had over the consulting detective as he said that Sherlock and his little pet Watson couldn't be allowed to simply escape.

After Sherlock replied, he aimed his gun first at Moriarty, and then at the explosives at the criminal's feet.

Jim only looked on uninterested, turning his head side to side like a reptile. _I thought this isn't an idiotic guy—a bullet can't detonate the bomb! Only Seb can detonate it—he has the remote._

* * *

**So, after showing you guys a portion of the episode, The Great Game, it's revealed that it won't actually take a bullet to blow the whole place up. **

**So, yeah, not my best chapter. **

**~MoJ**


	14. Thought-Delver

**Chapter Fourteen – "Thought-Delver"**

**A/N: Nothing much to say, except that logic may be diminished from here.**

* * *

Jim was utterly bored a year later. Irene Adler had been said to be beheaded in Karachi, and Sebastian and his snipers were away to kill some random kid a sixth-grader smart with computers had requested to terminate.

He tried to remember his little encounter at Hogwarts, and remembered the greasy-haired man in the portrait tell him he has yet to perform the Patronus Charm. _What is that? _

"_Accio_ book," said Jim as he pointed his wand at the single dusty book in the corner. The book nearly hit him on the head, and he let it hit the wall. Jim approached the now-open book, and hummed when he saw that it opened exactly on the page regarding Patronus Charms.

_So dark wizards are eaten by maggots the minute they perform the charm? _Although it alone stood as a warning for him to just back off and leave the territory uncharted, something stirred inside him. He wasn't sure if it was curiosity or his natural attraction to danger. He practiced the wand motion. _I think it's worth the risk._

He raised his wand, but suddenly remembered that he needed a happy memory. _Not just a happy memory, but a powerfully happy one. _So, he closed his eyes, and remembered the time he found himself in Hogwarts. He waved his wand, and said, "_Expecto patronum!"_

He closed his eyes before opening them to find out if he would be seeing a light in an animal form or a hundred maggots blocking his eyes.

_So…I am not such a dark wizard after all._

He saw a fox prancing about the room, amazing Jim for the first time in a decade. He watched the light fox until it slowly faded.

"Hmm…let's see what else I missed out on," Jim said to himself. He got his book and sifted through the pages. "Ah, yes—that thing Severus Snape does! Legilimency!"

* * *

With the disguise of Richard Brook, Jim was under the tutelage of one of the most advanced Legilimens, Thomas Anderson. He was very close to ending his Legilimency lessons when Anderson suggested Occulumency.

"Since you had learnt Legilimency in a faster route than average students, how about we try to close you mind to attempts of Legilimency?" suggested the tutor to the student. "Occlumency is closing your mind to Legilimency. Having a mental barrier from prying eyes."

_Could be useful. _Jim nodded. "I'm interested."

"Well, I certainly do hope you don't mind me having to sift through your memories—that usually happens on your first try," Anderson suggested. "Not too many students opt for Occlumency—too squeamish, much more than my own brother Philip. Then again, he's a Squib!"

"How exactly are you going to teach it?" Jim asked suspiciously. "How can I know you won't run off with the information you accidently get?"

"After each session, you can erase all the memories of yours that are in my head," the tutor replied. "It takes a number of sessions before you can prevent me from seeing anything."

Jim grinned. "Sure. I'm ready when you are."

"Okay, Richard, remember to clear your mind of all thoughts, since you're just a beginner" said Anderson. He pointed his wand at the man, and said, "One, two, three—_Legilimens!_"

Images of Professor McGonagall telling him he was a wizard. The memories of his father burning his letter, and Jim brewing the poison for Carl Powers…

"_Protego_!"

When Jim opened his eyes, he realized that he had fallen off his chair, and that he knocked his professor. He sighed, and erased the memories the teacher saw.

It took around a couple of weeks more before Jim could be able to do both Legilimency and its counterpart properly, without having to use defensive spells for the latter. It was considered an achievement by Anderson, who commented that most learners of Occlumency were too emotional to shut their minds properly. It was fairly easy for Jim, however. _Emotions—bah! They only hinder us._

So Jim had begun to shut down compassion and pity completely for magical purposes.

* * *

By the time he was captured by Mycroft Holmes and his men apparently for some crime, Jim had already practiced on enough unsuspected Muggles to be able to delve into their thoughts without having to say a word, albeit still with a wand pointed at them.

"So, Mr. Moriarty," Mycroft Holmes said to him outside the man's cell, "Any thoughts?"

Jim looked at the government man straight in the eye, and pointed his partially-hidden wand (mistaken as a twig) at him. _Legilimens. _

He saw through the man's eyes images of him doing various things. He grinned. "Uh, you have a thing for your personal assistant, eh, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft looked shocked. "Nonsense, Mr. Moriarty—utter nonsense."

"You are also having a bit of trouble in dieting, since you can't keep the diet itself and your brother makes it worse by taunting you," Jim continued, eyes on Mycroft. "You also are more of a sociopath than your own brother who claims to be one."

"What makes you think so?" Mycroft asked. His face was slightly confused, as if he believed that he never told anyone of the topic before.

"The proper question is 'How do I know?'," Jim said. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, imagine if I slip a note regarding these to my fellow prisoners, eh? They'll lose respect for you, and perhaps won't be afraid anymore of the guy who can't keep a mere diet! Whereas, I can't blab about it if I were free, because you don't have anything against me now!"

Mycroft's face looked sour, and walked away from the prisoner, who was harnessing all of his powers to not laugh.

He then announced to the prisoner next to his cell, "I'll bet you a hundred quid Mycroft Holmes will free me!"

A week later, Jim was being escorted by men outside, with a grin on his face. Earlier, he had said to the prisoner, "You still owe me a hundred quid!"

* * *

**Yeah, Moriarty's learning time with Legilimency and Occlumency may be a bit too fast, but perhaps it's normal for a genius his age, right? I mean, he's around 35-37. I was kind of curious as to why he got captured by Mycroft and how he got out, or maybe I didn't pay attention to the show enough. **

**Yeah, Moriarty has a Patronus, albeit he only has around one or two memories that're happy. I just don't think his mind's completely corrupted for maggots. I mean, Dolores Umbridge has a corporeal Patronus, and she's the vilest person in HP, and I'd rather have her dead than Voldemort (really). **

**Reviews are welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	15. The Next Game

**Chapter Fifteen – "The Next Game"**

**So, here we are! The last time I checked, this story already has 2,000 views! I nearly screamed into the keyboard. Thanks so much, guys!**

**Note: The kidnapping of the U.S. ambassador's children scene is included here-this chapter may be on the line between T and M. **

* * *

Jim didn't hear much from Sherlock Holmes. _Perhaps, he needs another game. _He called Sebastian in.

"What, boss?" asked the tall man of German descent groggily. He had clearly been disturbed from a nap, from the yawning he was doing in Jim's presence.

Jim replied, "Get some of Sherlock Holmes' hair—pluck it out, to be sure. Place it on this little case." He handed a transparent plastic case the size of his thumb to Sebastian. "Take a lot, Sebastian—and by a lot, I mean, around ten hairs or more." When the sniper nodded, Jim waved him away, saying, "Now, off you pop."

The young man's laughs echoed throughout the warehouse as he injected some scrumptious-looking sweets with a poison he himself created. _Of course, to play the game, one has to initiate it. Oh, Sherlock will love it!_

Afterwards, he left the sweets to cool for a bit, and had his wand in hand as he ran to a few security people in the Tower of London, Bank of England, and Pentonville Prison. He didn't take long, since it also didn't take much time for him to use the Imperius curse on them. _I'll need them for later._

* * *

Jim had Sebastian's second-in-command blend in with the crowd of parents in a private school and kidnap the two children of a U.S. ambassador. He saw the man later that night, the boy and girl trembling, with guns resting on their temples. Jim, however, was disguised as Sherlock Holmes, thanks to Polyjuice Potion from his stocks.

"Oh, hello," greeted the man with a grin on his face. When the children cowered, he pouted. "Oh, why the long faces? Is there something bothering you? Oh, yes—I haven't said my name yet."

The boy gulped.

"I am Sherlock Holmes," replied Jim, "and do you know why I'm kidnapping you?"

"No—not at all," squeaked out the boy. "My sister and I are very nice—we don't get into any fights. None at all…"

"Well, I'm staging this kidnapping so that when the police come around, I can pretend I solved this," Jim said, cackling while trying not to sound like himself. He turned to a sniper. "Turner, get the girl in a cage." He then turned to Sebastian. "Tiger, the sweets for the boy."

As each hour passed, Jim took a swig from a small flask. He watched the boy eat the poisoned sweets until he finally collapsed, dead as a doornail.

The girl could only shout out her brother's name, trying to wake him up. Her screams were muffled by Sebastian, and her head was right next to a gun held by Jim.

The girl couldn't sleep, not with Jim shooting at her brother's body every few minutes.

Jim and his snipers then left the abandoned warehouse, but not before sending a message to the ambassador.

The next day, he was disguised as a bystander, and tried not to grin as he saw the girl scream whenever Sherlock had went inside the room she was in.

* * *

Jim was standing near the crown jewels, and pressed each button resembling the emblems of the places he was going to break into. He then proceeded to control the minds of those he used the Imperius Curse on. _It's showtime! Break all the security systems, boys!_

While the security systems of the two other places went crashing down, Jim went to break the glass protecting the crown jewels, but not before writing, "Get Sherlock".

Quickly, he tried on the jewels, and looked calm as ever when he saw the police round up on him. He suppressed the desire to roll his eyes, and simply said, "No rush."

* * *

Jim had such a long day, using the Imperius Curse on all the members of the jury for his trial the next day. It was such an easy task, since none of them knew of the curse well enough to throw it off. _But that Roswell Fudge was hard to control! Still, I won!_

The consulting criminal simply watched as Sherlock Holmes told the people of all the crimes he did. He knew that the words were of no use. The members of the jury were under his control. If ever they threw the curse off miraculously, he was reassured by the fact that before cursing them, he warned them that their pressure points will be pressed.

* * *

**So, yeah, basically, this is TRF, but with the scene of the kidnapping included. **

**Reviews are welcome! **

**~MoJ**


	16. The Risk

**Chapter Sixteen – "The Risk"**

**A/N: So, I've shown you guys episode 'The Great Game' and 'The Reichenbach Fall' in earlier chapters. This is a continuation of the latter, or—to be precise—an explanation of a certain cliffhanger Moffat so deviously left hanging around for us.**

* * *

Jim checked the potion he was brewing. It was already like plasma, with little bits of something that resembled minced organs. Despite the rather sickening sight, Jim didn't mind. He had lived with the equally revolting odor that accompanied the appearance for a couple of months now. He had lived with worse-tasting potions—the Polyjuice Potion, for example. _I'll bet this would taste worse than Polyjuice, though._

Jim let the liquid simmer for a few more minutes before standing up and getting the potion into a number of vials.

For once, Jim looked nervous as he observed the particles moving around in the liquid. _If this thing doesn't work, I'm…dead…but I'll take Sherlock Holmes with me, hopefully._

He slipped the vials in his coat pocket, where a handgun also was. He was going to the rooftop of St. Bart's, where he and Sherlock Holmes would solve the final problem.

* * *

Jim made sure he was early, running up the winding staircases, and arriving at the rooftop, thankful that he arrived first. He then grabbed a shrunken book and pointed his wand at it. "_Engorgio._"

The book grew to its normal size, and Jim sifted through the pages, and arrived at the page he marked with his initials.

_The Organ Replenishing Potion is a potion that, when consumed, will enable the drinker to be able toheal from even the most fatal injuries to his or her organs. However, the effectiveness of the potion once consumed will last for only half an hour per vial—during that time period, the person will be healed from any injury in any organ except the heart. It is also very long and extremely difficult to brew, taking five months to brew for at least the lowest potency and a year for the maximum and can be failed by even the most advanced and skilled hand._

_It is not recommended to be made by an average wizard, due to its high chance of not working. It is also advised for potion-makers to be supervised by the Ministry of Magic and a wizard who has previously made the potion._

Jim was indeed the risk-taker; he had made one of the most difficult potions he had ever tackled without any supervision of any kind. He did not know if it would work, or if he would inflict injury to himself without any defenses to his systems instead. _It's only down to two choices—I'm going to die, or I'm staying alive!_

Although he was not sure of his insurance, Jim texted Sherlock to meet him. When he heard footsteps surely belonging to a consulting detective, Jim drank the vial of liquid.

It tasted so vile, and refused to run down his throat until he swallowed twice. He felt his body temperature rise slightly.

He would make his talk with Sherlock fast, he decided. He did not even know why he was making plans for his survival; he had always thought that being alive was boring without any distraction, and since he was going to kill Sherlock Holmes—his best distraction—Jim was going to survive, if his potion was effective, without anything to live for.

Still, Jim felt that he needed _someone _to return from the rooftop alive—whether it would be him or Sherlock was the mystery. _Games need a winner, naturally._

* * *

"As long as I'm alive," said Jim, finally realizing his loophole to his plan, "you can save your friends."

His hand travelled to his pockets, and grasped firmly on the hand gun. He looked down on the floor, lips slightly quirked in a small grin, wishing Sherlock good luck with that.

Swiftly, he brought the handgun into his mouth, and shot himself in the head. He then fell backwards form the rooftop, and onto the pavement below.

He did not know if his potion worked, or if he would be another careless potion-maker who failed.

_I do hope this works on brain injuries, _thought the criminal hopefully. His eyes began to blur until he saw nothing at all. He was in white-hot agony. _Or maybe I shouldn't keep my hopes up._

* * *

**Yes, I am that cruel, and did not let you guys know if Jim would live or die. Basically, this is Moffat-influenced. The potion may be unrealistic, so, yeah. I'll edit this once I get an idea on how Jim can magically heal himself. Ideas?**

**Lost 1 follower and favorite-r—I must be that bad. **

**And since I hit writer's block again face-first, this is going to take at least a week before the next chapter. No, this isn't going to be the end of 'Burn'. Or maybe it will be. I don't know. **

**~MoJ**


	17. Turmoil

**Chapter Seventeen – "Turmoil"**

**A/N: I told you guys this isn't gonna be the end! Why would I end this just like Moffat did on Season 2? Did you really think I was that cruel?**

* * *

Jim's eyes fluttered open, only to be met by a harsh white light. He quickly shielded his eyes with a hand, and took a long time before standing up.

The place was a train station—particularly, the one at King's Cross in London. There were no walls, however, and the whole place was white. Jim suddenly realized that he was in the suit he was wearing right when he shot himself in the face.

Seeing that no one was around, he said loudly, "Why am I still wearing this? I thought I would already have horns and a tail already, and be painted red!"

"Oh, to be young and influenced by stereotypes—back in the day, demons were always believed to be hiding in plain sight," said an old voice that sounded like Dumbledore's, but strangely didn't seem like the old man. It sounded much colder. "One does not need to be red with horns and a tail to be the Devil. One of the devils I now know shot himself in the face and wears Westword, whatever that thing is."

"_Westwood,_" corrected Jim irately. He then turned around, and saw an old man, but he was not Dumbledore. He was very old as well, but not nearly as much as the previous Headmaster. "Who're you, sir?"

"Ah, the man under your supposed house," replied the bearded man. He looked at Jim directly in the eye, his glare unwavering. "Salazar Slytherin."

Jim was relieved to find out that his wand was still with him, he cleverly hid it from Slytherin as he pointed it at him. _Legilimens._

Jim couldn't see anything.

"I see you're a Legilimens too," said Slytherin with a smug grin on his face. "I'm one as well, but much more advanced than you are. I don't need a wand to get into your mind and know that you've been arranging the deaths of people from such a young age without ever being suspected."

Jim couldn't suppress his gasp. "Uh, I've read from books that you're a parselmouth."

"I do speak parseltongue," agreed the older man. "Why're you asking?"

"I want to learn it."

Jim saw the man's eyes widen with shock. _Wrong move. _He then heard him laugh.

"Are you even kidding?" spewed out Slytherin. "One is born a parselmouth, not trained to be one. It is just like being a wizard—it's either you are born one, or you aren't. I see you haven't gone to Hogwarts as well, but you know about magic more than your counterparts there."

Jim rolled his eyes. _And I thought Occlumency blocks out Legilimency._

"Oh, it does," Slytherin replied. "It depends on whether you are advanced or not. As you're somewhat between beginner and advanced, it's quite easy for me to penetrate your mind."

"Okay, okay—I get it," groaned Jim, rolling his eyes. "Where am I, and why am I here?"

"You shot yourself, right?" asked Slytherin. When Jim nodded, he continued. "You also used an Organ Replenishing Potion, which only I and my protégé Merlin have been able to make without any failure. You've joined the ranks, however narrow your escape from death was. However, you failed to realize that it would take two hours before the potion would fully take effect—if you became too weak before it fixes your damaged organ, it will be too late. "

"I'm not dead?" asked Jim incredulously.

Slytherin shook his head. "No—not with the potion in your system. You were nearly dead—shooting yourself in the brain isn't wise, no matter what potion you take. I speak like Rowena!"

"Rowena?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw, the beautiful however stern co-founder of Hogwarts," explained Slytherin. "Anyway, you're barely alive, and you're going into what the modern people say 'shock'. It's going to be the thing that'll kill you if you don't try and stay alive."

"There's nothing to stay alive for," Jim said wistfully. "I didn't go to Hogwarts, I lost my friend, and my best distraction is now falling—or already dead."

"No, that distraction of yours isn't dead—he made a plan to make himself live too," Slytherin told him. "You are very much alike—although he is, like you had said, on the side of the angels. You're both very cunning, but I believe he's better in Rowena's house—no student of mine will be so self-degrading as to let people believe he is a 'freak' and not do a thing about it. If you have a plan to survive, he definitely has one too."

Jim's eyes widened. _So…I actually still have a game to finish! _"So…what am I going to do?"

"Stay alive, obviously," snapped Slytherin. "You are in limbo—the line between life and death. The moment you decide to leave this state, you will be in loci, and you will feel tremendous pain. You have to keep yourself conscious. Some doors in your loci are locked—unlock them, they may have something that can inspire you to live."

_Inspirational blah! I thought he was evil, _thought Jim exasperatingly.

"I am not evil—just morally disoriented," Slytherin corrected him.

"Will you stop using Legilimency on me like that?" Jim asked him in an irritated tone. "How will I get out of Limbo?"

"You have to close your eyes once more, long enough that you aren't blinded by this harsh white light anymore," Slytherin said. He then nodded at Jim. "You've been exceptionally clever, hiding your little craft from the Ministry of Magic. You could've been a brilliant student."

With that, the Hogwarts co-founder vanished into thin air, leaving Jim alone.

The young man sighed and closed his eyes once more. As each second passed, he didn't see such harsh light pass through the thin skin of his eyelids. When he opened them, he was in a place that resembled the graveyard near Moriarty Manor. _How ironic—I'm about to die and here I am in a graveyard._

Jim then shook his head and saw droplets of blood trickle down his neck and onto his suit. His fingers crept up his head and felt the bullet wound. That was when the real pain started to kick in.

_What the living hell am I supposed to do here? _Jim had a hard time thinking and keeping the pain at bay. He turned to a gravestone, which had the name "John Moriarty" inscribed on the stone. Jim was slightly shocked to find that the man was born the same day as he was, and had apparently died a few hours—or even minutes—after.

_The twin brother of James whose end came before he began._

Stillborn, then, Jim thought, and he's my twin brother. He then turned away from the grave, before remembering a conversation his father had with his mother when he was around five. _Oh, no, not stillborn, then._

_"__Well, let's hope James isn't like the other one," Mr. Moriarty had told his wife after Jim's fifth birthday. "I had to get rid of the younger one when he was making a mini fireworks display in his nursery. Thank God James wasn't like that, or we wouldn't have any children at all."_

Jim frowned. _So I would've had a twin brother who was also a wizard, and Father killed him. The bastard._

He looked at the gravestones one by one, until he had arrived next to a stone that looked like it had been recently place there. He kneeled to get a closer look.

_James Andrew Moriarty_

_Died 2013_

_"__The one who has started the game has died without even finishing it" – SH_

Jim looked disturbed at the fact that he had his own gravestone, with Sherlock Holmes' own quote to add insult to injury.

"Do you really want to leave the game unfinished?" asked the haunting voice of Salazar Slytherin. However, when Jim whipped his head sideways to look, he saw no one else. He was completely alone, like he really was.

Jim then started to notice all the cards flooding the other graves, all saying "I miss you" or "Hope you were here". It was only his grave that remained empty. He really had no one to stay alive for, except for the game he needed to finish.

* * *

**What? It's true Jim has technically no one who'll miss him truly. His father may miss him because of his achievements only, and his mother because of the same. **

**I swear if I lose any more followers due to my idiocy, I will bring Magnussen back to life and make a scene where he'll repeatedly flick John's face again just for my misery. Nah, just joking—I hate that guy enough to let him stay dead.**

**Reviews are welcome!**

**~MoJ**


	18. The Fool's Mate in Duels

**Chapter Eighteen – "The Fool's Mate in Duels"  
**

**So, yeah, I don't know if you guys think I'm alive, but here I am! **

* * *

"Boss?"

Jim opened his eyes slowly, and saw a concerned Sebastian by his side. The sniper's shirt was stained with blood.

"Seb?" he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

The sniper nodded. "Yep, boss, it's me." His eyebrows then furrowed. "Why in the hell did you shoot yourself? I thought the plan was that the moment Sherlock Holmes doesn't jump after three tries, we shoot him—not you shooting yourself. You would've nearly delivered to your ex-girlfriend's slab in her morgue if I hadn't noticed you groaning."

Jim wanted to roll his eyes, but decided against it. _If I weren't weak, I'd use Silencing Charms on him until he learns to shut up. At least I lived! _Instead, the man grinned, and spoke the last thought aloud.

"Dear God, boss," said Sebastian in frustration. He shook his head and walked away.

The consulting criminal then smiled a bit, and imagined the figure of Salazar Slytherin floating in front of him, and telling him once more that he could've been a brilliant student.

* * *

**Six months later,**

Jim's health was back to at least normal if not at its best. Clearly, being nearly in a state between life and death did not hinder Jim's thrill-seeking attitude. He had knocked all the people in a government building with one wave of his wand, and had destroyed all the cameras in another. _I can apparently break into the Buckingham Palace in person at their lack of awareness!_

He was in front of a recording camera minutes later, saying, "Did you miss me?" His lips were quirked into a sinister grin.

He then transferred the footage to the computer, and made it play over and over again for a full minute in all the screens in England. _Surprise!_

He grinned as everyone, especially New Scotland Yard, became shocked at the sight. He then Apparated from the building as if nothing happened. He conjured a hat that covered his face when he bowed slightly, and tried it on.

_Crack. _Jim smiled as he Apparated right in front of the place he avoided for reasons of caution: New Scotland Yard. He grinned when he was right in front of a now-surprised Detective Inspector Lestrade, who clearly wasn't expecting anyone to appear right in front of him. Jim made sure the cop couldn't see his face.

The shock on the latter's face, though, could be seen from a radius of half a mile if one looked.

"So…you're the one who made 219A explode so many years ago?" stammered the DI. His coffee landed on the pavement, now forgotten. He motioned for the man to go with him to a dark alley, where he finally pointed his wand at the still-hidden man.

"Come on," taunted Lestrade, his wand pointed at Jim. "Remove the hat, and fight like a man."

Jim decided to remove the hat. He grinned as he watched the policeman tremble slightly at the fact that the magical mass murderer of a few years ago was the same psychopathic planner of murders now. Jim also showed his wand, and snickered. "My, my, Detective Inspector, have you not dueled in a while? Have you forgotten that it is only polite for the duelists to bow to each other?"

Lestrade stood his ground, and refused to bow first. It was only when the younger criminal bowed did he do so as well. He then waved his wand, saying, "_Expelliarm—"_

Jim blocked the spell. "You are probably old enough to qualify as my parent and you still use a Disarming Spell? Tell me, did Hogwarts convince you that you will always win a duel with such spells, when you can use—" the man made a swiping motion, "—_Diffindo_!"

The spell Jim used had a bloody effect on Lestrade. As though a sword, the spell had cut Lestrade along his wand arm deeply-much more deeply than Jim had meant, but his miscalculated move was in his favor. Seeing that the police officer was too weak for dueling any further, Jim Disapparated, disappointed that the duel only took two spells.

While the consulting criminal was no longer in the alley, Greg Lestrade staggered back in New Scotland Yard with a profusely bleeding wound, much to the now-DI Dimmock and Donovan's surprise.

"What in heaven's name happened?" Dimmock asked him in concern. He led the man to his office, where Donovan also went.

The Detective Sergeant bandaged the wound temporarily before asking the older man, "What happened?"

"Turns out that the wizard mass murderer back in 2001 was Jim Moriarty," Lestrade admitted. "Dueled me, that bastard. I tried to disarm him first, but—"

"Back track—you used the simple, second-year 'Expelliarmus' against a clearly-psychopathic wizard who has blown up a flat when he was approximately twenty-something?" Dimmock asked in surprise. He buried his face in his free hand, before lifting his head and saying, "You could've just used something like the full-body bind."

"Well, I thought the man only had knowledge of simple spells," Lestrade said.

"'Confringo' isn't that simple—many of the blokes in the Ministry have trouble with that, and they've graduated from Hogwarts!" Donovan told him. "I'm going to give you a full lecture—or perhaps Dimmock, he's your equal now—when we get this thing stitched. _Episkey."_

The wound wasn't bleeding anymore, but now left a scar that appeared to be permanent. Donovan sighed. "I tried, Detective Inspector, but the wound was too deep. If you don't get some Dittany on that one, it'll scar forever."

"Nah, I'm fine with it," Lestrade told her. "I usually just wear long-sleeved shirts, so I'm fine. Besides, in the wizarding world, there are worse scars that not even Dittany can wear off." He then showed to the two officers a scar on his palm. "Anyway, thanks, Sally. I could've died of exsanguination if you didn't use the spell."

"Lucky you have friends like us, eh?" DI Dimmock told him smugly.

Lestrade nodded silently. He had agreed to the statement many years ago. He did not dwell on it for long, however, and asked his companions when they were going to report Moriarty to the Ministry of Magic.

"I'm not sure," Donovan replied. "I mean, he's an unregistered wizard—the Ministry doesn't know that James Moriarty exists, and we're going to receive matching scars if we try and bring Moriarty in front of the Wizengamot."

"Then have matching scars we will!" exclaimed Dimmock. "If we don't move, we're letting that psychopath kill another innocent person."

Despite the fact that they were about to throw caution to the winds, the other two agreed, and started making plans on cornering the consulting criminal.

* * *

**It's only at this point did I realize that it's 'Confringo' and not 'Confrigo'. Me and my stupidity. I'll edit it once I'm done. **

**Guys, it would really lighten my mood if you guys would review. I have a math summer review and the lessons are apparently hell-bent on torturing us. **

**~MoJ**


	19. Skirmish in the Warehouse

**Chapter Nineteen – Skirmish in the Warehouse**

**Okay, if you guys still think I'm alive, here's the next chapter. We're nearing the end. Points of views will change often, but they'll be divided by the line. I hope this doesn't trouble you.**

* * *

**Minister of Magic's Office**

"So…we have an unregistered wizard in the name of James Moriarty here who has been terrorizing both the wizarding an muggle word—albeit, more on the latter—for many years since or earlier than 2001?" asked Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt to Auror Lestrade.

"Yes, Minister," replied the silver-haired man. "He dueled me a few days ago, in fact—" he rolled up his right arm sleeve, which revealed the scar caused by a simple severing charm, "—he caused this."

"Seems to have been nasty and deep before it healed, eh?" asked Shacklebolt, concern on his face. When Lestrade nodded, the Minister then sighed and said, "Okay, we need to talk necessary action, but I daresay that we don't need the Muggle Prime Minister's involvement in this. They've had much too many tasks on their hands, as I've heard."

"What should we do,then?" asked Lestrade, his hands gripping the ends of the armrests of his chair.

Shacklebolt didn't answer for a few seconds, but then replied afterwards, "We will send Aurors to his current residence—don't worry about how we'll find him, Auror Lestrade, we will use magic detectors, and will investigate the most common places for a criminal, like a warehouse that's been abandoned—and, hopefully, we could chance upon him and throw him into Azkaban, providing he doesn't kill us."

"Why?"

"Because unregistered wizard criminals are the worst kind you'll ever face—their actions are not recorded, enabling them to do anything they wish—good or bad—and when I say 'anything', I mean it," Shacklebolt explained. He then stood up. "Now, if you don't mind, Auror Lestrade, I believe luncheon hours have arrived."

* * *

**Abandoned Warehouse, Birmingham, England**

Jim was expecting for the Aurors to come; after all, he _did _injure one of them, and had proved that he was the wizarding mass murder. So, he gave instructions to his snipers. "Hide well, and shoot anyone cloaked, holding twigs and saying Latin incantations. Shoot them well—in the head and heart."

So, the very next month, when Jim saw the Aurors Apparating into the warehouse (_Apparently, they sensed magic_), he just grinned when Sebastian cunningly pointed to each of the Aurors, and let the snipers shoot them.

Meanwhile, Lestrade, Dimmock, and Donovan were Apparating and Disapparating around the warehouse to try and confront the criminal. Even though they heard the cries of pain and the sounds of the bullet crashing through their colleagues' skulls, they knew they should never go crashing into the scene.

"Where _is _he?" Dimmock groaned. "I mean, we've circled the whole place thrice, and we haven't chanced upon him."

"Then, perhaps we should split up," Lestrade suggested. He needed to find Moriarty immediately, and stop the big bloody mess happening between the Aurors and the hidden snipers.

"Great idea!" chimed Dimmock in agreement.

Donovan gasped in surprise. "Are you _that _desperate for death? If we split up, we don't have anyone to back us up, and if we _do _find Moriarty, he might kill us—or worse, do something with his little wand to get us fired from the Ministry! However, if you two are so eager on putting either your lives or reputations in jeopardy, I'm going to help the other Aurors!" With that, she Disapparated.

"Merlin's beard, she needs to sort out her priorities," Dimmock muttered under his breath. "Not to mention that _she _went to the place where bloody bullets are flying everywhere like pixies." He then looked at Lestrade. "I'm going to the east wing of this warehouse. You go to the west. Once we either have him or a cold trail, we're helping Sally."

Lestrade had a bewildered look upon his features. "Are you barking mad? At least one of us has to make sure Sally hasn't been shot by a sniper! You go to her, Dimmock, while I try and find the bastard James Moriarty."

So, Lestrade Disapparated, leaving Dimmock to go to Donovan.

* * *

Dimmock cast the Disillusionment Charm upon himself, resisting the urge to shiver at the cold aftereffect of the charm. Once he could not see himself at all, he Apparated into the extremely dangerous scene.

It was indeed such a frightening mess. One minute, one would see a certain Auror fighting; then, the said Auror would drop dead the next. Dimmock spotted Donovan boldly going in front of their fellow Aurors and deflecting the bullets to a place where it would inflict no damage.

In the midst of trying to protect the other Aurors, Donovan failed to realize that there was a bullet heading straight for her.

Dimmock's eyes widened, and he quickly said, "_Aresto Momentum_" in an attempt to slow the bullet in its pursuit for its target. He then quickly pushed Donovan down as the charm quickly wore off the bullet.

He heard her scream in surprise, and had to muffle them before saying, "Relax, Sally, it's me." He then muttered the incantation to make Donovan invisible as well, and dragged her slowly but carefully out of the miniature war.

After cancelling the effects of the Disillusionment Charm, Dimmock glared at Donovan. "You would've been killed!" he told her in an agitated voice.

Donovan looked at the floor, face full of regret. "I'm sorry."

Dimmock ruffled his hair in frustration. "No need. Next time, stop trying to play heroine and make sure there's at least one of us to back you up. That bullet could've gotten my friend away from me!"

Donovan exhaled the breath she held, and smiled at Dimmock, mumbling, "Thank you."

* * *

Meanwhile, Lestrade was busy Apparating and Disapparating around every nook and cranny of the warehouse, and decided to try and go to the rooftop. _God, a reenactment on Sherlock's fall is what I'm expecting, _he thought in a very grim manner.

Once he was already outside the dark, bloody, warlike place, he realized that while everyone was predicting what the Third Wizarding War could be, the outside world was as peaceful as ever—or as peaceful as it could get with Jim Moriarty in it.

* * *

Jim was just there on the flat rooftop of the warehouse, with "Stayin' Alive" playing in the background, just like he had done before he shot himself. The only difference to this scene was that he had no more tricks up his sleeve. If he was going to be hexed to death by Lestrade, then he would head straight to death, hopefully in a stylish red Westwood suit before he would meet the Devil.

He grinned as he saw Lestrade appear. He noticed that the Auror was trying hard to keep a striahgt face and not reveal the underlying fear he exhibited. He just smiled sinisterly at Lestrade and said, "So…we're going to be Holmes and Moriarty again—except you're a much duller version of Sherlock Holmes."

He saw the Auror's hand clench into a fist in his pocket. Jim just laughed and raised his wand just as Lestrade did so. "Scared, Lestrade?" he taunted, grinning devilishly—much more devilishly. He had one plan that would have to be completed—one of them was going to leave the warehouse alive, while the other would be a cold, perhaps bleeding, corpse on the rooftop. _Or, _Jim thought, _a critically injured person who can never function properly again_.

Lestrade took a few moments before his determined hazel eyes met Jim's bored dark ones. "You wish."

* * *

**Thus ends Chapter Nineteen! So, I'll only need at most two chapters to go before deciding whether an epilogue should be written or not. **

**By the way, be honest, do you guys think the episode parallels are too similar to the canon episodes? Because I work in an anti-plagiarism forum and the last thing I need is to be told a hypocrite.**

**~MoJ**


	20. The Final Duel

**Chapter Twenty – "The Final Duel"**

**A/N: So, since I have no idea who to root for in this little duel, best of luck to you all who had some hope for each of the duelers.**

* * *

"You wish."

Each only bowed curtly to the other, and it was time to begin the battle.

* * *

"Where is he?" asked Dimmock to Donovan inside the warehouse. "We're sending Healers from St. Mungo's in London here to Birmingham because there's an increasing number of dying and dead Aurors! If we don't find Lestrade, it's either he's abandoned us, or he's dead. I'll take the latter."

Donovan sighed, and replied, "Relax, Paul. Maybe he's been taking rounds of the whole place and we haven't caught up to him."

"With us already going around and around his place like a teddy bears in the garden?" said Dimmock incredulously. "My hat!"

"We'll find him," Donovan told him. She then pointed to the place where only a handful of Aurors were still able to deflect the bullets raining down on them. "Meanwhile, we should help them."

Dimmock shot a look at her. "Apparently, being nearly hit by a bullet wasn't enough to tell you that playing heroine is as bad as jumping off a cliff for nothing? Once _you _get hit and die, what'll happen to the Auror you were protecting? He'll be dead, three seconds flat, because he isn't ready with his fighting stance."

Donovan shook her head at him, grabbed his arm, and turned on her heel. The wizard and witch disappeared with a crack.

* * *

"_Engorgio Skullus_!" shouted Lestrade, waving his wand and casting the spell on his opponent. His arm wound was open yet again due to yet another malicious use of the Severing Charm; thus, blood trickled from his wound to the rest of his arm and the handle of his wand.

Jim, meanwhile, smartly dodged the spell, and the sparks accompanying it hit a flying bird in the distance. The creature's head became thrice the size of its body, and fell due to the overwhelming weight to its death. The consulting criminal failed to realize that Lestrade already had a trick up his sleeve.

"_Incendio_!" said the detective inspector, sending a jet of flame to Jim.

Quickly, Jim's head whipped to the side to meet the upcoming flame, and waved his wand as he casted the Water-Making Spell.

The jet of enchanted water engulfed the fire, albeit not quickly enough, as one of the tongues of flame had reached the hem of Jim's trousers before he could send the water to it.

Lestrade sighed and buried his head in his free hand, showing a sign of disappointment.

"I feel you, Detective Inspector," muttered Jim, and drank the water formed from his wand. After wiping his mouth, he smiled and bowed in an overly-dramatic manner, and told Lestrade that he was allowed to cast his spell.

The Auror rolled his eyes. "You sound just like that bloody prick of a schoolmate I had—Lockhart, the bloke's name was," he said. He made a hand movement that was whip-like. "_Carpe Retractum_."

An orange light lashed out toward Jim. As if a rope, the light tied itself to him, and Jim looked startled at first when Lestrade began to make pulling motions with his wand, and pulled the opponent closer.

Lestrade growled menacingly at him, and warned, "I've got you now; you're tied to a light acting as a rope, and I can drag you around this whole rooftop, and let you dangle on the edge before I cut the connection, and make you fall to your death."

Jim only rolled his eyes. _Pathetic! _He only looked at Lestrade doubtfully, and took the Auror by surprise by swiftly making a sweeping motion with his wand arm and saying, "_Depulso_!"

In an instant, a seemingly-invisible force pushed Lestrade away from Jim, startling the inspector's concentration, and eventually breaking the enchanted rope, setting Jim free. Jim only smirked as he watched the policeman nearly fall off the rooftop, had it not been for the older man's hand grabbing the railing and hanging on.

"You said _I'd _be the one dangling from the rooftop, but look at that!" Jim said, laughing boisterously as he pointed at the struggling figure. "The irony of it all! Looks like I win, then."

* * *

Raucous laughter filled the already-sinister atmosphere, and it nearly choked Lestrade. He held his wand at a threateningly-tight grip. He was dangling from the rooftop of a terribly high warehouse which had nearly no human contact. It didn't help that his hands were getting sweaty, and inexorably making him lose his grip.

The Auror looked up, and his eyes met those of the criminal who was standing in front of him. The other wizard didn't look as scathed as he did—that is, if one would consider a slight burn on the hem of his clothes damage. He, meanwhile, looked like a soldier who narrowly survived a war fought for many years. His robes were torn and soaked in blood, and revealed his Muggle clothing. He was also drenched in water from the Water-Making Spell Moriarty had casted. In comparison to the dapper man, Lestrade looked pitiable.

He then imagined that he was hearing the familiar crack that meant someone had Apparated. It was only when he saw the familiar blue and red ensemble Dimmock wore did he no longer believe he was imagining the sound. _No, I'm not supposed to drag him into this! _Lestrade frantically waved his wand arm at Dimmock, and made gestures to him to leave immediately.

The younger, lanker man nodded. He did not, however, turn on his heel to Disapparate. He only crept behind the wall that only partially hid him a few seconds earlier.

* * *

"Oh, I think I hear someone Apparating here a few moments ago," said Jim more to himself than to anyone else. "Could he be behind me or could he be behind that wall?" he sang. He then turned to face the wall where Dimmock hid. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he teased in a singsong voice.

Jim took measured strides until he was facing Dimmock, who looked surprised at his being discovered. Jim shrugged at him, and pointed to a dangling Lestrade, whose grip on the railing was beginning to loosen with sweat. "May as well watch your friend fall. _Colloshoo_."

In an instant, the other policeman's shoes were stuck to the floor. Jim knew he could not take them off lest he wished to look silly.

"Oh dear, that was rather tedious," he said with a fake tired expression. He then grinned at Dimmock, and turned on his heel to Apparate.

Despite his higher-than-average levels of observation, Jim failed to realize that Dimmock held a newly-sharpened dagger. He only realized it when Dimmock threw it expertly into his chest right before he could Apparate.

"_We've gotten him_!" was the last thing Jim ever heard, and it was clearly from Lestrade, who apparently wrapped his unexpected victory with a little bow.

So Jim Moriarty's lifeless body hit the floor. His pale face was vacant and void of even the slightest spark of human emotion. His wand rolled away from his body, making his hands empty. If he did not appear as a normal man alive, he now did dead.

* * *

**So, there we go. I originally wanted Jim to win, but then again, that's boring! I've got to give Lestrade a duel where he could win. The dueling scene may be a bit odd at pacing and such and perhaps a lame if you're used to awesome, mind-blowing action scenes, so advanced apologies. I'm also going to put an epilogue, and hopefully a sequel in the upcoming months during semester break. **

**Aside from the story itself, do you guys think I should change the title—both in plot-wise sense and if-the-readers-will-be-confused sense? Tell me what you guys think!**

**I've edited this story, more on the ending. **

**~MoJ**


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